


Low Like the Sun

by 64907



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, M/M, Near Future, Teen Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 16:27:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20439026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/64907/pseuds/64907
Summary: It's been twenty-three years, give or take.





	Low Like the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday to the one and only beef man, Jun! This is a dream fic that I tried to make as accurate as possible because I'm all about that LMAO. As such, there are background Jun pairings here according to the rumors about the dorito so please check the tags. The only inaccuracy re: the timeline is that cut between 2001 and 2002. KCE was filmed first before Gokusen.
> 
> Many thanks to Angel who looked over. Any mistakes left are mine.

_I still have pieces of you stuck on me  
Pieces of you stuck on me  
I love you on the weekends  
It's a cruel war_

Wars, Of Monsters and Men

  
\--  
  
**1996**  
  
Aoyama is just as crowded as any part of Tokyo and it’s been a neighborhood of the latest trends for as long as he can remember. It's spring with the leaves rustling against the wind and scrunching against the soles of his sneakers when they first meet.  
  
It's not something noteworthy. He's already met most of the boys around his age. He's only getting accustomed to calling them as colleagues when he learns that one of them has quit. It happens. It happens every now and then that the trainers don't even look sad when they say something like, "We regret to inform you that Takashi-kun has resigned from the agency," with their faces blank. He wonders if it's a sign of adulthood, that their faces can be so detached from the words their mouths form.  
  
He's sporting a long face when one of the boys pats him on the back. "Elite, why do you look like that?" The others surrounding them laugh. _Elite._ They call him that because he got in without auditioning.  
  
He knew Takashi. He liked him and the takoyaki he shared with everyone. He can remember the stains of sauce left on Takashi's shirt that one time after practice because he forgot to bring tissue paper with him and had to wipe his mouth using his sweat-soaked practice shirt. He was a hard worker like most of them.  
  
"I didn't think he'd quit," is all he says.  
  
Everyone around him says their own versions of awwws and laugh after. He's used to being laughed at. He thinks if he can make people laugh, maybe if he gets his debut he can be the funny one in the group.  
  
"Cheer up, Matsumoto," one of them says. "It's not like anyone here's an Elite like you. They wouldn't really bother for the likes of us, but they will for you."  
  
He blinks and opens his mouth to say something but the door opens and slams shut once more, and another boy comes it with a guitar case slung over his shoulder. When he looks up, his eyes are green.  
  
Colored contacts are becoming a thing, and it's the first thing Jun remembers about him. Years later, when he thinks of him, he will think of green and he won't even remember why it's the first thing that comes to mind.  
  
One of the kids beside him sniggers. "He doesn't even play the guitar like Ninomiya."  
  
"Shut up," another kid says. "He does. He just doesn't think we're worthy of seeing him do it. Mr. Keio Boy."  
  
Keio Boy is someone Jun doesn’t know. They never met before. The taller kid beside Jun informs him that Keio Boy entered the agency a year earlier than most of them, so he’s a little more well-known. Jun would’ve thought he’s younger because of how short he is, except no one younger than Jun looks at everyone with so much judgment.  
  
“Probably thinks he’s better than most of us,” Taller Kid says. He pats Jun’s shoulder. “Maybe you can be friends. Elite and Keio Boy, what a combination.”  
  
The trainer shushes them to silence by clapping his hands and everybody gets into position. Jun pretty much forgets about Keio Boy and his expensive guitar case as they do a few more rounds of the dance sequence. Their senpais will be relying on their energy and enthusiasm, the trainer says. Do it like you’re under the same spotlight.  
  
Jun has dreamt of that spotlight for two years now. It amazes him sometimes that someone like him, so short in stature, can have such big dreams. But he can somehow see himself there someday, performing for people who hold uchiwas of his face. Maybe he’ll even throw a few flying kisses here and there.  
  
He dances according to the choreography like everyone else. Jun has a knack for picking up the beat, the right moment to move. It doesn’t make him as good as Ohno-kun, but he can keep up. At their age, their generation of Juniors, it’s kind of hard to do that. Everybody’s trying to outdo everyone else, trying to shine more. Takki’s got his own fans already, and that puts everyone in a competitive mood.  
  
The trainer calls for a break and Jun collapses against the nearby wall to catch his breath. Routines like this rely on their youth and vigor, and he can probably do a few more practice rounds after eating. Boys their age have such an appetite, and they all wait for the catering service to start handing out donburis so they can have their fill.  
  
This year’s PLAYZONE might be the most ambitious yet, featuring some of the recently debuted groups and the most popular Juniors. Jun’s not that popular yet, but he’s been told some people already know his name. It’s the thought of that that makes him smile, a big one that takes up most of his small face. He’s been told he has a small face.  
  
“You look like a bug.”  
  
He looks up and sees green. He doesn’t understand.  
  
“You’re so skinny and tiny,” green-eyed Keio Boy says. “How are you so small?”  
  
For a moment, Jun feels smaller. Like the basement of Aoyama Theater has suddenly expanded in size and everyone’s watching them. All the other boys with their curious stares, their stifled laughter. Keio Boy’s found Elite. Jun wonders if the audience here can match the audience upstairs.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Jun says, a little hesitant, soft and quiet. And yet, it echoes in the room. It causes his cheeks to redden. He’s always been easily embarrassed.  
  
Keio Boy quirks an eyebrow, his head tilted to the side. “Why are you sorry for things you have no control of?”  
  
Nobody’s really commented on Jun’s tendency to apologize quickly before. They often called him polite, sometimes just ruffled his hair, but it’s the first time someone directly questioned it. Before Jun can respond, Keio Boy holds out his hand.  
  
“Sakurai Sho,” he says. The green of his contacts reminds Jun of how the sea can be sometimes when the sunlight hits it and the sand underneath is yellow enough for the hues to mix.  
  
Jun gingerly holds out his own hand and accepts the handshake. He introduces himself and he sees Sho-kun’s eyes narrowing fractionally. Elite, he must be thinking. This is the Elite everyone’s been talking about for months now. Personally invited to a practice session by the company founder.  
  
When Sho-kun speaks again, it’s far from what Jun has imagined him to say.  
  
“You live anywhere close?” he asks.  
  
He’s got a cute forehead. Not that foreheads can be cute, but it’s the most appropriate adjective Jun can think of the longer he takes in Sho-kun’s face. He’s a senpai, but he went out of his way to meet a kouhai. It’s unheard of, and Jun doesn’t understand the feeling of floating that he feels.  
  
The weird feeling settles at the pit of his stomach the longer they talk, and Jun imagines himself swimming against the tides of a tumultuous ocean and thinks that there’s something calming about the way Sho-kun speaks. His eyes don’t really give justice to the way he talks and carries himself. Somehow, it’s the only unsettling feature about him because it doesn’t fit.  
  
Jun looks around the basement and sees a couple of people averting their gazes. In this basement, neither of them really do fit in. But in the midst of all these kids with aspirations, a pile of lanky limbs and youthful vigor, Keio Boy found him.  
  
It’s spring with the leaves rustling against the wind when Jun, in his teenage mind and heart, decides that if Sho-kun is different, then that makes them more or less the same. He’s way too smart for Jun, and Jun can’t help listening to him the more he talks. He’s what Jun isn’t, and maybe that’s why he has Jun’s interest.  
  
_I’ll follow him_, he thinks, smiling. When Sho-kun smiles back for the first time since they met, it’s then that Jun realizes.  
  
_And he’ll let me._  
  
\--  
  
When Jun finds the time to look back, he’ll realize that he’s come to associate the seasons with Sho in a way only he understands. It was spring when they first met. It’s winter when Jun first takes a leap. Sho’s first meaningful present to him is his entire summer. It’s the beginning of autumn when Sho first breaks his heart.  
  
It won’t be the last.  
  
  
  
  
**1997**  
  
It’s winter when he finds the courage to ask him out.  
  
Jun’s still growing, but most kids his age have gotten their puberty boosts. It makes those older than them look shorter, turning them into the butt of most jokes in some junior shows. Sho-kun’s been called many things in the time Jun’s known him: from Keio Boy, he’s now a rice grain or a tiny bean.  
  
But he’s still a couple of inches taller than Jun, and Jun thinks he prefers it that way. He can hide behind Sho-kun’s back, after all. In their oversized training clothes, when he’s exhausted and can’t muster up a smile anymore, he can always look for Sho-kun and conceal himself from everyone just for a while.  
  
The snow’s falling and everyone’s looking forward to the holidays when Jun waits for him to finish dressing up. He postpones asking when he sees the already familiar twitch of annoyance on Sho-kun’s eyebrow, the huff he lets out when his bag strap gets caught around a railing. They go home together almost every day now since their rehearsals coincide with one another. They’ve been taking the same train since Sho-kun asked where he lived.  
  
He waits until they’ve reached the station, until they’ve boarded the train and Sho’s let out most of his frustrations for the day. His parents are a little too hard on him, Jun thinks. Can’t they see he’ll become someone important someday, someone irreplaceable? As Jun listens to him complain, he wonders why their parents are so different. His never really talked to him about the future that much. But Sho’s do, and when they do, Sho gets into this mood and it’s hard to break him out of it. He’s edgy. The Sho-kun he admires is replaced by someone who’s full of uncertainty that Jun no longer recognizes him.  
  
“Sho-kun,” he says when Sho’s quieted down and is picking at his nails. Of the two of them, Sho’s the perfectionist one. Jun thinks his wants are so linear and obvious but he has yet to fully understand Sho’s. It’s what makes him interesting.  
  
The only indication that Sho has heard him is a tilt of his head. He doesn’t look up from removing the dirt caught under his nails.  
  
“Would you like to go and see Titanic?”  
  
Jun expects two things when he asks the question: the first is an incredulous laugh followed by a question of “Are you serious?” that he seems to get lately. He wonders why they always ask that. He’s not Nino who lies about having someone for a brother just to have a funny thing to say.  
  
None of his expectations happen because all Sho does is look at him. No judgment, no frown, no narrowing of his eyes. He’s just looking at Jun with those contacts that are a bit closer to the true color of his eyes, and Jun’s stomach feels funny. It always does when Sho suddenly gives him all of his attention. Like he’s not worthy of it but it’s the one thing he wants. Like everything has quieted down and yet a storm builds up inside him, wanting to be unleashed.  
  
He can’t explain it.  
  
“It’s the highest grossing film in America,” is all Sho says, finally looking away and giving Jun a bit of reprieve. Or so Jun thinks, because he smiles then, and Jun’s drawn to it. If Sho says yes, it’s a good thing the cinema’s dark and the screen’s big enough or else Jun will be unable to focus.  
  
“I’ve read it’s a long film,” Jun says. “But a good one. For me, I just want to see how they pulled off the part when the ship splits into two.”  
  
“All right,” Sho says, and it doesn’t register at first. Jun has to stop and take a moment before sneaking a glance in Sho’s direction, who’s nodding. “All right, let’s go. Not that I like these kinds of movies, Matsujun, but whatever. Better than nothing.”  
  
Sho complains when they do see the movie together, telling Jun that Rose could’ve scooted to the side for her and Jack to fit on top of that door, that Jack didn’t have to die. Jun listens to him and argues that “it’s a romance film, Sho-kun,” which receives a scoff and a “you’re not listening; he didn’t have to die.”  
  
It’s far from Jun’s expectations, but he thinks that in time, he’ll learn to predict Sho’s actions with more accuracy. He’s still the most interesting person to Jun, and Jun concedes the argument with another invitation to another movie.  
  
Unlike that first time, Jun can say he expected the exaggerated noise of irritation Sho makes that’s subsequently followed by a begrudging agreement. They end up seeing two movies that day and Jun beams on the way back home.  
  
That same night, he dreams of flying and of reaching heights he’s never been to before.  
  
\--  
  
In the same year, Jun grows closer to Takki. Takki’s older and popular and everyone pretty much loves him, even the higher ups. The managers think he’s the best out of everyone with his looks, his behavior, the way he flawlessly takes up the leader role without being asked to.  
  
Takki’s great and he teaches Jun things Jun wants to know about production, the difficult process behind making a concert work for it to be something memorable for the fans. When the years pass, Jun will fondly remember the times he stood by Takki’s side, scribbling notes that he keeps in his wallet out of fear of losing them. They’re treasured learnings from an important senpai.  
  
In the future, Jun will lie about not remembering a thing about those notes. They’ll be tattered pieces of paper that long turned brown, the ink blending with the fiber that the characters have fused with each other, hidden away in a box that Jun will not open for years.  
  
In the future, he believes no one will remember.  
  
  
  
  
**1998**  
  
The sun is high in the sky and the heat is relentless when Jun turns down an invite. He’s grown a couple of inches taller, but his face is still youthful. The others have started growing facial hair, but Jun’s is yet to appear. He does have armpit hair, though. And in other places. The other day, Sho discovered that Jun’s leg hair is thicker than his own and he laughed about it until he teared up.  
  
“Come on, Matsumoto,” one of the kids say when Jun says he can’t. “It’s just an afternoon in the arcade store. Didn’t you promise to beat me in pachinko?”  
  
Jun can’t really recall. “Another time, Ikehata-kun.”  
  
Ikehata looks disappointed, but he’s a good sport. It’s why Jun still hangs out with him. He’s not mean like the other boys who are now taller than Jun. “Fine, fine. We’ll go ahead.”  
  
Jun nods. “Tell the others I’ll catch up some other time.”  
  
It’s one of the first lies Jun says, and it becomes a habit. For the rest of the summer, he learns to say the words with less regret as he turns down one invitation after another. It becomes known with the other boys that he’s almost always where Sho is, that if they invite him over, he’ll turn it down because of Sho.  
  
Some of them find it hilarious, others find it cute. Jun’s adored a couple of senpais before—Takki is one of those—and he doesn’t understand what makes Sho any different. He’s not a gifted dancer like Ohno, he’s not a natural leader like Takki, and he’s not a promising actor like Nino’s proving to be. He’s taken to wearing mismatched contacts lately, his hair in dreadlocks. He thinks the rappers from America are so cool, and while Jun doesn’t like any of their music, he’s easily charmed by the way Sho talks about them.  
  
There’s hardly any wind to speak of when it’s summer, the weather so humid it causes Jun to sweat no matter what he does. He feels disgusting and sticky and in need of a bath when Sho catches him off-guard, casually throwing out an invitation to a recently-opened manga café.  
  
“You look forward to Shounen Jump, right? There’s this new place downtown.”  
  
Jun blinks, not quite comprehending. Maybe it’s why Sho calls him stupid sometimes. He knows he’s not as smart as Sho, that he’s not that good to get into a prestigious institution like Keio, that Sho’s probably saying it as a joke. But hanging out with Sho makes him feel like he might be.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Are you deaf?” Sho asks with a slight laugh. Jun can still remember how it was for him when he’d first asked Sho to watch a movie together. He had to find the right timing. How does Sho make it look so easy? Effortless? “I said, let’s go to that manga café after rehearsals.”  
  
“Okay,” Jun says, nodding. His face breaks into a helpless, honest smile. _This_, he thinks. _This is why I turned down everyone._  
  
It’s almost like he knew what was coming.  
  
It starts there and it lasts for the rest of the summer. He’s with Sho every day for three months, has spent hours and hours with him as they try to finish their summer homework together. Jun’s good at math but has difficulty with English, but there’s Sho to teach him. There’s Sho who laughs when he mistakenly pronounces the letter H with F, and there’s Sho who teaches him how to syllabicate better that when they do go overseas with the rest of the juniors, he knows enough English to go by.  
  
The season eventually changes and they both have to go back to school, but on the night before they do, Jun finds himself wishing that summer would last. He feels like the protagonist of his own cliché story, something his sister’s friends undoubtedly read in their past time.  
  
“Summer’s over just like that, huh,” Sho says, standing right outside Jun’s house. Jun invited him over but he declined, saying he has to wake up early tomorrow. They both do, but Jun invited him because it slipped his mind that his most memorable summer has come to an end. Gone were the days for them to laze around and hang out, watching movies and reading manga together instead of doing homework.  
  
“Yeah,” Jun says, voice quiet. Even the humidity has changed, giving way to cooler nights.  
  
“How is it?” Sho asks, his eyes glinting when Jun looks at him. “You’re so spoiled. You made me give my entire summer to you that I’m honestly sick of seeing you.”  
  
He says cruel things while smiling, and it’s something Jun has known about him for a long time. He understands it for what it is, anyway. It’s Sho’s way of being kind while trying to act cool, and Jun is helplessly charmed as always.  
  
“Come to my graduation,” he says. “When I finish junior high and am promoted, I want you to be there.”  
  
Sho frowns, shooting him an incredulous look. “Oi, I just said I gave you my entire summer. What, it’s not enough? Why are you so spoiled? Who raised you to be like this? I’d like to have a few words with them.”  
  
Jun ignores him, his teasing barbs and disbelieving laughs. He’s come to realize that he wants to see Sho as often as he can. He’s entering senior high in a few months and he wants Sho to be there, to make it as memorable as the summer they spent together.  
  
“Come to my graduation,” he says again, and Sho finally shakes his head.  
  
“You’re unbelievable,” Sho says, but when their eyes meet, Jun knows what he’ll say. They know each other well enough to simply tell. “All right. You always get what you want, anyway.”  
  
“Go home,” Jun tells him then, unable to keep himself from smiling. “I’m sick of seeing you.”  
  
Sho makes a face that causes Jun to laugh, and when he’s walked so far that he’s gone from Jun’s sight, Jun finally realizes what makes Sho so different from the rest. Why despite his haughty attitude and laughable fashion choices, despite the edgy, prickly youth he exudes all the time, Jun chooses him over anyone else.  
  
He runs to his room and stares at the wall for the longest time, questioning himself. It can’t be. Right? It’s not possible. But he’s never felt like this with Takki before despite his respect for him. Ohno’s an exceptional dancer and Jun’s always admired the way he moved, but the admiration ends there.  
  
_I’m not_, Jun thinks with a little disbelief at himself, _I’m not. I can’t possibly be._  
  
He doesn’t know who to tell. The first person that comes to mind is Sho because he tells Sho everything, but he thinks he can’t. Not this one. It sounds too close to his fears. He thinks if Sho finds out, it’ll scare him away. If Sho takes one good look at him, he’ll know.  
  
The feeling isn’t as intense or as poetic as mangas or any movie made it look. When Jun finally understands it for what it is, he doesn’t feel electric. Time doesn’t stop either. The world doesn’t pause and no one else notices, but something’s changed. His pulse has accelerated and he feels feverish. The funny feeling in his gut that he’s always associated with Sho dissolves into nothingness, into a bottomless pit that is an echo of how things used to be.  
  
He’s fifteen and he’s utterly in love with his senpai from the jimusho. Who’s also a guy. Jun’s never liked men before, especially boys his age. But he thinks of Sho and it’s like a punch, and he’s trembling inside. If he can, he’d scream.  
  
It’s not the discovery of it that surprises him, not really. At the back of his mind, it feels...natural. Like it’s the only appropriate answer for all the things Jun’s done so far and will continue to do. The other boys called it hero worship. Some of them think Jun simply wishes for an older brother, and Sho’s the closest person to that. But all of those explanations felt inadequate somehow, and it’s only now that Jun truly understands.  
  
It takes an entire summer for him to know, and a few hours before it ends for him to accept. With Sho, he’s come to terms that acceptance is the first step to make things easier.  
  
“Screw it,” Jun says to no one, to himself. He stops thinking altogether and falls into a restless sleep, an inadequate escape.  
  
\--  
  
“The fact that we are getting photographed together for your graduation rites has to mean something,” Sho says when they do attend the ceremony together and sit side-by-side. A couple of years later, doing so will have to warrant an acceptable explanation. But not now.  
  
“What, you think we’re popular enough that the paparazzi think our photos are worth something?” Jun asks with a laugh. “I don’t even have that many fans.”  
  
Sho has a frown on his face now, eyes thoughtful. He’s ditched the dreadlocks to something far more acceptable, though his hair is still long. “Or maybe the rumors have some truth to it.”  
  
“About a group debuting? That has to be Takki, isn’t it?” Jun asks. He’s too young to debut, he thinks. He’s not even sixteen. And Sho’s seventeen, but still too young. They both are.  
  
Sho doesn’t say anything for a while, but he does speak on their way out. What he says makes Jun stop, thinking his ears have deceived him and his brain has stopped working.  
  
“I’m thinking of quitting,” Sho says.  
  
A thousand words fly into Jun’s head at once. _You can’t_, he wants to say. _What about me? What would I do? Isn’t it possible for us to debut together?_  
  
Instead he remains there unmoving, heart racing. It didn’t beat this much when he knew, he thinks. This is more terrifying.  
  
“Why?” is all he says, and Sho no longer looks at him.  
  
His question goes unanswered.  
  
  
  
  
**1999**  
  
Jun isn’t really stellar at volleyball. He’s all gangly limbs and bones that are too prominent to serve any use, his smile too big to look anything but goofy. He’s clumsy and has developed two left feet over the first few months of his sudden growth spurt.  
  
But somehow, his volleyball skills don’t really mean a thing. Johnny made it seem to everyone that it did, and when someone said Jun’s a little better than the other kids, Johnny took them up for it. It still doesn’t explain why Jun’s suddenly debuting with four other people who also look like they have no idea what they’re doing on a plane on its way to Hawaii.  
  
Jun looks around and sees Ohno’s nervous expression, Aiba’s distant one, and looking somewhere behind reveals Sho deep in discussion with Nino. The two of them seem to be doing that a lot lately. There was a time that Sho would tell Jun about everything, that every phone call was dedicated to unloading all his problems to Jun’s listening ear, but with the debut coming up, that seemed to become fewer in occurrence.  
  
Maybe Nino is Sho’s new sounding board, Jun thinks, a twinge of something sharp and ugly stirring inside him. He tramples it down and looks away.  
  
He’s just as nervous as everybody else, he thinks. But of the five of them, he thinks he might be the only one who wants it. He wants the screams, the glittering stage lights, the hiss of the smoke machines, the flash of pyrotechnics. He wants the spotlight. He looks around and tries to imagine the five of them standing onstage, hands linked.  
  
“Arashi!” the fans will scream when they raise their hands. Jun imagines his heart full, adrenaline steadily pumping in his veins. He sees himself soaring, floating, staying still. It’s an old dream that he’s kept safe somewhere in his heart, buried deep out of fear of being laughed at. But it’s happening.  
  
He’s sixteen and is suddenly thrusted in an unforgiving industry, tasked with starting a storm that no one else has seen before. He doesn’t think he can do it. He can barely do volleyball. But being with four other people who probably share the same sentiment makes him feel better somehow.  
  
Someone collapses on the seat next to him and pokes his cheek in the next second, and the spot feels too hot like the rest of Jun’s face. He’s all nerves again but for an entirely different reason.  
  
“Still want to quit?” he asks, knowing it’s what Sho and Nino have talked about months before today.  
  
Sho doesn’t answer right away, but Jun already knows what he’ll say. It’s so easy to tell nowadays. “I don’t know if I’m up for this.”  
  
“Neither do I,” Jun confesses, lowering his voice. The steady hum of the plane’s engines creates the illusion of privacy that they need. Their managers can’t hear this. Not after hours and hours of rehearsing with practice questions. “But maybe it can work, you know?”  
  
“You’re so simple-minded,” Sho says, shaking his head, but there’s no irritation there. “I wish we can all think like you do, can believe like you do. Will our single even sell? It’s not even a good song.”  
  
“It will,” Jun says with conviction, not knowing the source of his courage. Maybe he just wants to assure Sho like he always does. Maybe he’s feeling elated that Sho’s talking to him about these things again despite Sho’s tendency to open up to Nino lately.  
  
Not that it makes Jun jealous. He just thinks it should be him.  
  
“Would you buy it?” Sho asks. “Say you had the money. Would you buy it?”  
  
“Yeah,” he answers immediately. “Ohno-kun’s got a great voice.”  
  
Sho swats his arm and he laughs. “You’re supposed to say I did a great job at the rap parts.”  
  
“Like you don’t know that already,” Jun says, rubbing at the spot. “Seriously, it’ll work out. I think.”  
  
Sho takes a moment to look at him, and Jun tries to meet his stare as calmly as he could. He wonders if Sho can see, if it’s too obvious that it won’t take much. He hopes not. “You wanted to debut. You always did.”  
  
It’s the truth. Jun’s not particularly vocal about it, but it’s the reason he works hard during rehearsals, why he dances until his muscles scream, why he sweats twice as much. He never really saw himself doing anything else. Since he entered the jimusho, it already felt like it’s where he belonged.  
  
“I do,” Jun admits, and maybe it’s the way Sho looks at him or how everyone seems to have disappeared, “I wanted to debut with you.”  
  
He realizes what he said when Sho blinks. The colored contacts are long gone now, and Jun can see the true hue of his eyes. They’re not as brown as his own, but they remind Jun of cheap coffee from a recently-opened manga café a few blocks from the rehearsal studio back in Tokyo.  
  
Sho draws back, eyes looking at Jun differently. He’s never looked at Jun like that before, like he’s a mixture of anger and disappointment. Fear builds up in Jun, accumulates in uncontrollable amounts and threatening to take him over. He feels exactly where he is: a thousand feet up the air, the bottomless ocean under him. He feels like he’ll fall and sink.  
  
“And what about what I want?” Sho asks, voice dreadfully inflectionless. “You never really thought of that, have you?”  
  
Jun thinks he broke something. Something shattered inside him just now. He just doesn’t know what it is. He’s too stupefied to check. He’s never really angered Sho like this before.  
  
“I—”  
  
“You didn’t,” Sho says. The look in his eyes haven’t changed, and Jun thinks he has to do something. But he doesn’t know what. “In the end, it’s always about you.”  
  
When Sho stands, Jun thinks of stopping him. But it’s not a drama or a movie and he doesn’t, instead he sits there and watches Sho walk away, as far from him as possible. Sho picks the farthest seat in the place and puts his headphones on, and Jun knows he’s unreachable.  
  
He doesn’t know what he did wrong, but he’s already thinking of a hundred apologies. They never really fought before. It’s strange that they had petty arguments on who gets to live or die in a Hollywood blockbuster but never about things that mean something for their lives. Maybe it’s a sign of growing up, of youth giving way to adulthood.  
  
It’s too soon, Jun thinks. Everything’s happening too soon and so fast, they’re almost in flashes—he’s debuting, he’s made Sho truly angry for the first time, and the one thing in common about those is that he doesn’t know what to do.  
  
He’s lanky and awkward and there are miles upon miles of ocean underneath him, and it feels like they’re about to swallow him whole. Something aches in his chest, a sting so sharp it’s difficult to breathe. If you’ve loved someone for so long, it hurts twice as much when they break your heart.  
  
I’m sorry, Jun wants to say, so he does when he’s looking at his reflection and the vast blue of the ocean down below. Sho’s too far to hear him, but he says it anyway. He doesn’t know what for. In time, he’ll learn how to apologize for things he’s got control of and be silent about things he doesn’t.  
  
In time, he’ll learn to hide better, to keep his most selfish dreams to himself. In time, he’ll learn how to stop dreaming of Sho often, to think of him less and less. In time, he’ll learn to weather the other times Sho breaks his heart.  
  
But for now, all he can do is smile in front of a window and hope it looks convincing and perfect for those who await them in Hawaii. He practices like every choreography he’s learned over the years, like every line he has to repeat over and over to the satisfaction of a strict director.  
  
Jun is sixteen when he first learns how to be professional, and it happens when he’s thousands of miles away from home, his heart in pieces but no one has to know.  
  
\--  
  
The single is a success despite the name it has, and Jun has the choreography ingrained in him like it’s part of his genetic makeup. Creating a storm throughout the world seems possible, evidenced by numbers that make their managers and producers happy. If they continue like this, it might work.  
  
They hold a handshake event and Jun tries to commit the face of every fan he meets that day to memory. This feeling of floating is something he won’t forget. He returns each smile, each firm handshake, and each word of gratitude tenfold, his heart full. When he looks at his sides, he sees four other people sporting the same expression, their smiles wide and true.  
  
The dream lives on.  
  
  
  
  
**2000**  
  
Most of them expected Jun to be the one who’ll cry at their first concert. It’s no secret to everyone that Jun’s the one who’s easily emotional—the quickest to laugh, the first one affected by a movie, the one who takes twice as long to get over most things.  
  
But he doesn’t. To the surprise of everyone, it’s Sho who cries first. He does it while wearing a feathery costume that shows off his navel piercing to thousands of screaming fans. He does it while telling everyone how grateful he is to be in Arashi, and he’s so far from the Sho on the plane to Hawaii that Jun almost doesn’t recognize him.  
  
The staff backstage are hidden by the shadows and some of them laugh, but Jun doesn’t. Jun watches Sho’s tears fall and brings his microphone to his mouth, telling Sho to do his best and barrel through his emotions to say what he needs to say. Today’s been overwhelming, the response too much. They don’t even have a lot of original songs, but people came. Jun looked around and saw a sea of unfamiliar faces, of girls so thrilled to see them their eyes are almost shining.  
  
They came to watch us, he realizes, and he finds himself in the exact position Sho is in. He looks back towards the stage and sees Sho a couple of feet away from him, and Jun wants to run to where he is. He wants to tell him that they did it, that these people are here for them and want them to do their best, but then Sho sneaks a glance in his direction and Jun realizes that he knows. Sho knows. There’s no need to tell him.  
  
When Sho smiles, his tears have left tracks on his cheeks that he hastily wipes away. He bows in front of everyone and receives deafening cheers, Jun’s own adding to the chorus.  
  
Later, when they review the footage and the staff tells them they have to film a backstage clip as a bonus for those who’ll buy their concert video, Jun tells everyone the truth.  
  
He won’t give Sho to anyone. The Sho everyone saw that day, Jun’s loved him from before, from the time he had dreadlocks and surprised everyone with a set of an ear and a navel piercing. He apologizes to the fans but he has to let them know. He’s always been the first fan.  
  
“You’re my fan? The number one?” Sho asks, and they both know a crew is filming this, but they don’t seem to matter.  
  
Despite the studio populated with other people who are privy to this conversation, Jun answers. “Yeah, I’m number one. I like you more than anyone else.”  
  
It comes out naturally. When someone’s filming them, Jun finds himself more courageous regarding the things he truly wants to say, for Sho to know. Even Nino knows about the depth of Jun’s feelings—that’s how open and expressive Jun is about it lately. It just seems more acceptable now since they’re in the same group unlike before when they were younger.  
  
Sho stops for a moment, his face turning serious. “Is it love? Or like?”  
  
And it’s Jun’s turn to reassess the situation. The studio lights are blinding, the camera flashes disorient him. Somewhere far, he hears Aiba’s laughter echoing off the walls, and he wonders what could possibly be funny. The way Sho looks at him is nothing different from how he does when he asks Jun a question and he awaits the answer, but this is no English lesson about pronunciation and translation.  
  
It hits too close to home, and when Jun tries to step back, he realizes there’s nowhere for him to go. His back is firmly pressed against the wall, solid and unyielding. He’s trapped and suddenly exposed, too bare for everyone else, and he struggles to cover himself up.  
  
“It’s different because we’re both guys,” he says, downplaying it, and Sho laughs. Jun doesn’t understand why he follows suit, why his chuckles join Sho’s when he feels hollow. Somewhere inside him wants to scream that it’s nothing to laugh at.  
  
Ask something else, he almost begs Sho. _Ask anything but that because I don’t know._  
  
“That answer pisses me off,” Sho says, turning to the camera. “I don’t need a fan like you! Your answer irritates me.” Jun almost believes him, but his expression shifts. “From now on, keep me in your favor.”  
  
Jun returns the sentiments instead of admitting something again so carelessly. There are things for the fans to know and there are those that are only for him, perhaps for Sho, too, in another time. Sho right now never thinks he’s serious, anyway. Like the Jun who had to ask a senpai to watch a movie with him, he has to find the correct timing.  
  
The rest of the interview proceeds smoothly, Jun’s raw admission forgotten so easily until the full concert is released on VHS. Nino shakes his head over it when they watch it in their hotel room together one night. Jun never gets paired with Sho during concert tours, much to his dismay.  
  
“You think he knows?” Nino asks, the TV remote spinning on his palm. How he does it, Jun has no idea. Nino has a lot of talents. He can play the guitar, write songs, and act. He’s amazing in ways he has no awareness of.  
  
“Knows what?” Jun asks. The footage has moved on to Aiba’s interview, and Jun’s never seen this.  
  
“Sho-chan. You’re not exactly hiding how much you like him. You think he knows and is just screwing around, milking it for the fans? It does help with raising his popularity and we can’t deny that,” Nino clarifies, and Aiba’s words on the TV blur over each other.  
  
Jun turns to Nino, wondering when did the guy who lied about having a brother in the agency become so smart, so perceptive that it’s terrifying. “Sho-kun won’t do that,” he says defensively.  
  
Nino hums, and he rewinds the footage back to the start of Aiba’s interview. Jun thinks he won’t say something when he opens his mouth after a few seconds of silence.  
  
“Are you saying that to me or to yourself?”  
  
“To _you_,” Jun insists, putting emphasis on the word.  
  
Nino shrugs, then his focus shifts back on the TV and Jun feels like he can breathe again, his airways unclogging. Years later, Nino’s question will haunt him when he least expects it, when Sho talks about starting a fire that’s not even lit.  
  
_I like you more than anyone else_, Jun admitted. But he never voiced about the rest of that thought.  
  
_But what about you?_  
  
\--  
  
“I’ll give it to you,” Sho promises over dinner, a takeout bento that he’s merely picking at because he’s full but doesn’t want to put his manager’s efforts to waste. Just one more thing Jun admires about him.  
  
“You said that before,” Jun reminds him, only a little annoyed. “But I have yet to receive it.”  
  
“A sleeve button, right?” Sho asks over a mouthful of tempura. “I’ll give it to you, I promise.”  
  
“If you forget again, I’ll ask for something else,” Jun tells him, which earns a laugh. But it doesn’t deter Jun, his eyes serious he looks at Sho. “If you don’t give it to me, I’ll be asking for the second button.”  
  
“That won’t do!” Sho says immediately, shaking his head. “You’re so annoying.”  
  
He says that often nowadays. But Jun believes he doesn’t mean it because even when he does, he still picks up the phone when Jun calls him, still accepts Jun’s invites for a movie here, a dinner there.  
  
Jun drops the matter then, so it’s a surprise to him when he does receive it one day, a casual tap on his shoulder and an outstretched palm right before him when he turns. It’s a button in faded gold sitting at the center of Sho’s palm, and Sho’s not really looking at him.  
  
“I’ll treasure this,” Jun promises, his smile so wide it can perhaps split his face. Sho never says anything, and the first thing Jun does when he gets home is to borrow his sister’s sewing kit to attach the button to his own uniform.  
  
Years will pass and he’ll forget asking for it. But he’ll always remember the feeling of boundless elation upon receiving it, and it’s what will make him admit it as casually as he can in an interview. They’ll be older then, and Sho denies any recollection of it, but Jun will remind him.  
  
He outgrows the uniform eventually, but he keeps it inside his closet. When he eventually moves out of his parents’ place, he takes it with him and hides it for almost twenty years until he finally musters the courage to show it to the person who needs to see it.  
  
Until that time, Jun goes to school carrying a part of Sho with him, and he wishes he can let Nino know.  
  
_See? He’ll never do that._  
  
  
  
  
**2001**  
  
The older Jun gets, the more open he becomes about how he feels for Sho. He can still recall the onslaught of ugly, negative feelings that swept over him the moment he realized it—the disbelief followed by the fierce denial, eventually taken over by fear. Fear that stemmed from the possibility of one of them debuting ahead of the other, of Sho quitting and choosing another path.  
  
Sometimes Jun deludes himself into thinking that the fear of Sho finding out went away because it’s now more acceptable since the circumstances worked in his favor. He and Sho in the same group, doing the same things together. They’ll be together for the rest of their lives. Surely it’s not so strange anymore.  
  
He becomes vocal, using nearly every opportunity on hand to let Sho know, and Sho reacts as expected. A shrill laugh followed by embarrassment and fondness, an exasperated “Matsujun, you’re so weird,” or “Matsujun, you’re so stupid,” that convinces everyone save for Jun. If the other members notice, they don’t say a word. It has become an unspoken agreement, that Jun’s adoration for Sho only concerns Sho, and despite Jun upping things a bit, Nino seems to respect that joint decision of letting them be.  
  
He’s Matsujun in front of the cameras and Macchan in private, and each time Sho calls him that way, something inside him makes his ribcage feel too tight, his chest now a compressing structure. He’s Macchan when Sho’s in between sleeping and waking up, when he’s woken Sho up with a phone call. He’s Matsujun when they’re on a public event for Kindaichi and the MC asks the members what they think of it. It’s the first drama series with an Arashi member for a lead role. Jun thinks he’s been handed a tremendous responsibility.  
  
“I’d like for him to tone it down, really,” Sho says, pertaining to how cool Kindaichi sometimes is. Jun wants to refute this, wants to say it’s in the script and he doesn’t feel cool at all because he knows Sho is making fun of him when Sho adds, “Because otherwise, I’d fall for him.”  
  
And despite the spotlight on him, despite the professionalism he promised to show whenever he’s in public, he’s Macchan all over again, feeling things he shouldn’t, face heating up. The sea of faces disappear, even the rest of the members do. For a moment, it’s just him and Sho onstage, and Jun can’t look at anybody else.  
  
Sho’s blond with his hair sticking out in every direction, his skin is tanned and he’s been yelled at by the management for it, but he says such things and right in front of everyone, Jun thinks with a searing dedication he saves for no one else, _I want him._  
  
\--  
  
The offer for Gokusen comes and Jun has to get highlights for it because the jimusho isn’t risking him turning his hair red just to portray the role. Too wild, his manager says when he suggests it. To Jun, he’s only trying to make the fans of the manga happy.  
  
Jun thinks the hair is the last thing they’ll ask him to change. But then they tell him they scheduled him for a dental implant, and Jun, who’s never really worried about his teeth before, suddenly feels overly conscious.  
  
“Because it’s a renzoku,” Sho explains over the phone when Jun tells him about it. It’s way past midnight, and he’s spent hours telling Sho about how he doesn’t understand why he has to change his crooked teeth for a role. A role he hasn’t even accepted yet.  
  
“It’ll be a waste not to do it,” Sho tells him. His manager said the same thing over and over again, but he’s not Sho and Jun is not listening to him right now. “Come on, we need it. Maybe it’ll make people look you up and the group by extension. Ever think of that?”  
  
“We’re not singing the theme song,” Jun informs him. One of the reasons why he hesitated over the offer. It’s not like Kindaichi. “V6-san is.”  
  
“Well, it’s still you starring in it,” Sho reasons after a moment. Jun’s certain the part about the theme song has surprised him and he’s now masking his disappointment. As kouhais, they always have to give way for their senpais. Even if it does sound a little unfair. “And if people like it, maybe they’ll come to like us. See our shows.”  
  
“You think?” Jun asks. If he was torn earlier, now he’s leaning towards accepting the offer.  
  
“They’ll load you with anesthesia before they do the implant, silly,” Sho assures him. “Go for it. Also, I’d like to see someone else blond. Everyone’s gone blond in the group except for you.”  
  
“I won’t be completely blond,” Jun says. “I don’t think I can pull it off.” He pauses, but then decides to go for it. It’s late and his defenses are down, and this is Sho, so his guard never really mattered in the first place. “Not as well as you do.”  
  
“Hah,” Sho says with a derisive snort. “You’re cute, Macchan. I hope that works in our favor when you do the drama.”  
  
“I haven’t agreed to it yet,” Jun insists, but Sho laughs, rich and filling Jun’s ears. If Jun could, he’d replay it over and over.  
  
“You will,” Sho says, and after a few more words, cuts the line after wishing him a good night.  
  
Jun accepts the offer the following morning, and it takes a month before he’s introduced to the rest of the cast, his hair longer with streaks of blond. He’s to play a delinquent, but doesn’t think he quite fits. He suggests adding a piercing somewhere in his appearance to make it more convincing but his manager shoots it down, saying that it’s enough that there’s one in the group. Jun silently agrees with him and drops the topic, and dreams of said piercings turning warm against his skin that same night.  
  
Sho never has to know.  
  
  
  
  
**2002**  
  
As a trade-off that’s perhaps unintentional, they end up singing the theme song for Kisarazu Cat’s Eye, a drama that’s spearheaded by a senpai but also has Sho in a supporting role. Jun has every episode of it taped on his VCR, and every scene that has Sho is something he’s seen more than once. He confesses about it on Utaban, but omits the part about him rewatching most of Sho’s scenes.  
  
In the same show, Sho complains about his phone calls at 4:30 in the morning, all while telling him to shut up. Jun does, and when it becomes something the rest of the members laugh over, the conversation thankfully gravitates towards something else. But it stays with Jun, and when he looks back after a couple of years, he’ll think it’s the catalyst for the change that’s about to happen to him. He’s nineteen and coming of age in a few months, and he thinks he can’t keep hanging on to Sho’s every word. Sho’s started to change too, and he’s not that agreeable to dinner invites despite Jun promising he’ll wait up for him if he needed to.  
  
It’s work and while it’s fun for the first few years, it’s starting to take its toll. In hindsight, they’re all too young, thrust into the unknown that’s the entertainment industry, harsh and unforgiving to most hopefuls but kind and rewarding to a selected few. Their luck from debut era didn’t seem to last, and they start to notice the decline in attendees in their shows. It’s affecting each of them in its own way, doubt starting to seep in.  
  
And Sho, who’s got university, drama filming, and concert rehearsals to worry about, starts to take it out on things he still has control of when everything’s happening all at once. He’s quick to anger and edgier, and Jun can’t really find his footing with him lately. It’s like treading on broken glass and each step he takes leaves a bigger crack.  
  
Still, he tries. He reaches out despite knowing he’ll receive a rebuff which becomes harsher as work piles up and the days turn more stressful. _I have exams_, Sho tells him over and over. Years back, Jun gave him a CD player for a present, only to find out that he bought the same thing for himself, and when Sho discovered it, Sho told him he didn’t need it.  
  
It was the second time he broke Jun’s heart, but Jun never let him know. Now, he’s breaking Jun’s heart over and over with every rejection accompanied by “You’re annoying, Matsumoto,” and the unmistakable sound of the line being cut.  
  
If anyone asks, Jun thinks it wasn’t him who drifted away. He’s being pushed back, and the last straw happens when he tries to call Sho once more to apologize for his behavior lately, but before he gets a word out, Sho beats him to it.  
  
“Stop calling me,” he says, tongue clicking in irritation. He does that a lot lately. “You’re so clingy. I have far more important things to do than talk to you. Like you’d ever understand, really.”  
  
Jun opens his mouth to say sorry but is never able to, the line ending the next moment. He holds his phone in his hands and almost calls Nino or Aiba, but ultimately decides against it. From here on, he stops calling unless it’s important. Unless it’s work. He’s nineteen and he doesn’t know what Sho’s going through. The more he thinks about it, the more believable it becomes.  
  
The filming for Kisarazu reaches its end and Sho’s made new friends, people he hangs out with often that a part of Jun feels jealous when he hears Sho talk about them. But he doesn’t voice it out, instead immerses himself into this upcoming role that he has, embodies it. He already underwent the implant procedure and had no complications, his teeth white and perfect.  
  
The next time he sees Sho in the greenroom, his hair is longer and the blond bits make him stand out. He would’ve greeted him as cheerfully as he could, but decides against it, remembering that there are always far more important things than him.  
  
It stings but it’s what makes Jun toughen up, change stirring inside him. He greets Sho as casually as he could and stays far from him, focuses on his memorizing his script. If he does notice Sho’s new cologne, he doesn’t comment on it. Sho can wear anything he wants.  
  
Jun’s nineteen when he decides to stop being vocal about how he feels. It doesn’t matter because it never counted. The other party never reciprocated. He ends it before he reaches twenty and doesn’t look back.  
  
It would’ve been impossible, anyway.  
  
\--  
  
He’s nineteen when he enters his first serious relationship since he became part of Arashi, and it lasts. It grounds him in ways he didn’t expect. When things go bad, he can always tell her. When something happens, she’s one of the very first to know. She listens to him and comforts him and makes him happy, and thanks to her Jun forgets.  
  
It lasts for three years and a little over that, until she tells him one day that it’s impossible, and it’s like a punch to the gut, a déjà vu that he leaves an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Jun’s loved her for three years and she’s been with him for most of it, then she tells him that? It’s difficult to stomach.  
  
But he does, because he has learned. He lets her go without much fuss, even helping her recollect her stuff from his place. Being younger than her, he supposes a part of her still sees him as a kid. Someone she has to guide and can no longer do so. She goes on and creates more sequels for that hit drama they starred in together, but Jun never returns. He doesn’t have the habit of looking back once he’s closed a particular chapter of his life.  
  
The members offer a few words of how sorry they are to hear about the breakup, and Jun only nods in thanks. He listens to everyone except to Sho, and when Sho tries to talk to him about it, Jun wishes he wouldn’t.  
  
_Don’t look at me now_, he wants to say. _It’s always been a front, and I can’t keep it up. Not today._  
  
Instead he says, “You don’t need to hold my hand for this,” and he can see Sho’s surprise. Sho’s got longer hair now and he’s becoming famous for his rap lyrics. They both changed in their own ways. While Jun focuses on getting the seats filled for their shows, Sho makes sure their words are worth hearing. It’s teamwork and one Jun’s grateful for.  
  
But there’s a limit to the help that he needs. Sho looks like he can’t quite believe it, and Jun has to tell him. “I got this, okay? I’ll be fine.”  
  
Sho has stopped being that person long ago. Jun’s not going to rely on him.  
  
  
  
  
**2005**  
  
He has no time.  
  
He’s got curly hair and feels worthless when he hears footsteps approaching the spot where he chose to hide. It’s days before the competition Ohno and Sho have unwittingly signed them up for, and the pressure’s on Jun. There are rehearsals for the concert, for this, for his drama, for their other variety shows. Was this how Sho felt back then? The irresistible urge to split yourself into as many parts as you need just for you to do everything you have to do? To make it?  
  
“Go away,” he says, not bothering to check who it is. If it is his manager, he’ll listen. But it’s not his manager.  
  
“Talk to him,” Ohno says, and the last time Jun has seen him this serious was when he decided he didn’t want to rely on their senpais for work. It was years ago in a dark hotel room with the five of them in a meeting that lasted until dawn. “Talk to him and tell him how you feel.”  
  
“I need guidance,” Jun tells him. He’s the one who’s not making it to most of the rehearsals because of his drama, but unlike Sho who has once used it as an excuse, he doesn’t want to do the same. He doesn’t want his lack of time to be the reason why he’s falling behind. He’s trying hard enough, can’t the old man see that?  
  
“Then tell him that,” Ohno says firmly. Jun’s a little grateful they didn’t send Sho in to talk to him. Maybe someone out there knew Sho wouldn’t be the right person for the job. “Say it so he’ll know. Don’t just say you don’t get it and walk off, leaving all of us hanging.”  
  
Jun hates it when Ohno makes sense. He’s not supposed to do that. He’s the most carefree of them all, the one who spaces out four times out of five. But when he zeroes on something, Jun hates it because he knows what to say. He makes Jun feel juvenile, and at the back of Jun’s mind, there’s that ugly thought of _this is why she left you. You’re too much for her._  
  
He’s always too much. Tonight he’s too angry, too complicated to understand. The members don’t meet his eyes when he comes out to meet them, but Sho’s there to act as the moderator. Out of the four of them, a part of him still folds when it comes to Sho. Once Sho talks, no matter how pissed off he is, he stops to listen. It’s been years since Jun told himself to stop, but sometimes he just can’t. He thinks it’s appropriate damage control when they had Sho sit right beside Hikaru-san, because then Jun’s anger dissipates. He finds the words. He’s cooled down enough to say what he has to say, to make everyone understand.  
  
“A part of me feels rushed,” he admits. “This is something we can do if we have the time, but we don’t. There are scheduling conflicts already, and I know ask for twice, sometimes thrice as much when I’m here, but it’s what we need. We have no time.”  
  
How is he supposed to know what he has to do when they don’t tell him about it?  
  
The intervention comes in the form of someone who understands, and Jun can’t help tearing up. The frustration builds up in him, added to the fact that he hardly sleeps lately. In the end, he and Hikaru-san see eye-to-eye, and Jun apologizes for his outburst.  
  
Sho doesn’t talk to him until the cameras have been turned off and everything has quieted down. He’s not as stubborn and as headstrong as Ohno so he waits for his turn, and he finds it when Jun’s on his way back to the van.  
  
“That was petty, wasn’t it?” Jun says. “You’re going to say that, right?”  
  
“How do you know what I’m about to say?” Sho asks back.  
  
Jun shrugs, rearranging his cap. He needs to sleep. “Sorry for causing a fuss.”  
  
Sho stops, the heels of his sneakers coming to a halt against the pavement. It makes Jun turn back, and Sho’s looking at him with a frown. The earring winks at him when the street light touches it. “You didn’t.”  
  
Jun frowns. “Didn’t what?”  
  
“It wasn’t a fuss,” Sho says, crossing the few meters that separated them. “Honestly, I thought you had every right to feel that way, given the pressure you’re in.”  
  
If Jun’s guard is up, he’ll say something like “Don’t talk like you know what I’m going through,” because how dare he, really? A part of Jun spikes in anger at how easily Sho has seen through him, but he shushes it down, thinks he’s had enough of meaningless outbursts for the day that’s brought about by exhaustion and frustration.  
  
“I’m fine,” he says instead, looking away. Sho reaches out, and the hand that clasps his shoulder burns when it touches his skin that he almost jumps. But he holds his ground and waits, too physically and mentally drained to do anything else.  
  
“No you’re not,” Sho says, and squeezes once, twice. “But you will be. Go get some sleep.”  
  
Jun regains enough sense into him to shrug off Sho’s hold, head held high. “Right,” he says, instead of quit telling me what to do.  
  
He enters the van and finds the most comfortable spot he can rest his head against and dozes off, the drive to Tokyo fading away in a series of colorful city lights that blend into one another.  
  
\--  
  
The harder they work, the more they push themselves to the limit.  
  
It becomes evident when Sho pulls a muscle in his back, the rest of his trunk stiffening in the process. It’s laughable that they don’t have a proper doctor on the camp site to look after any possible injuries mid-practice, but maybe it’s because these things rarely occur with professional athletes. Which they aren’t, but are trying to become as close to one as possible is such a short amount of time.  
  
Jun’s noticed it before but refused to utter a word about it, but Sho’s been falling behind. He’s been practicing just as hard as everybody else, perhaps harder than Jun is, but he never gets the timing right. He has problems with synchronizing with everyone else, and he compensates for it by pushing himself too far.  
  
And now he’s injured. It may be a minor injury, but it’s a setback. They need Sho in top shape for it to work. And if he isn’t, with the competition merely days away, something needs to be done about it.  
  
He, Ohno, and Aiba reach the conclusion that it’s on them, but Ohno gives him a questioning look as Aiba proposes the idea. It’s a secret meeting involving Nino but not Sho, who stays quiet with his hands tucked inside the pockets of his hoodie.  
  
“Do you have time?” Ohno asks.  
  
“I don’t,” Jun says honestly. They know he’s got the ergometer brought to the drama studio so he can practice, but it’s not like he finds enough time to do it.  
  
“We can cover up for Sho-chan,” Aiba assures him with a small smile, a hand on Ohno’s back. “Right, Leader? We’re tough guys.”  
  
“No,” Jun finds himself saying, and he hates himself for it already. It’s always like this. “Let me. I want to help.”  
  
“If you practice twice as much, you’ll hardly sleep,” Nino says, and it’s the first time he says something. He’s been contented with listening all this time, but of course he has to shell out the hard truth for Jun.  
  
“I know,” Jun says. Right now, he’s getting three hours of sleep at most. But if he covers up for Sho, he’ll get one hour, tops. It’s tough and it’s a bad decision because it’ll fuck up his ability to focus, but it’s what he wants.  
  
It’s what he wants.  
  
“I’ll do it,” he says. “The three of us can do it, right? If he can’t match our pace, we’ll match his. Simple.”  
  
It really isn’t, but no one tells him that. They all look at him like they _know_, and Jun wishes they wouldn’t and that they don’t. It’s embarrassing enough. When it concerns Sho, no matter what it is, Jun always chooses him. He’s deluded himself into thinking he’s outgrown that phase, but things like this happen as if to remind him that he’s making a fool out of himself.  
  
That no matter how hard he tries, he’ll always gravitate to Sho like he’s the only choice. It’s frustrating and somewhat unbelievable that he still feels this way after so many years, but he does. He still does and it’s so scary that he makes sure he doesn’t stop to think about it.  
  
“All right,” Ohno says. “It’s settled then.”  
  
Jun watches them leave and wants to laugh at himself, at the circumstances. He’ll never understand the extent of his feelings for Sho after walking away from it years ago, but the hold it still has on him amazes him every once in a while.  
  
_I can’t shake you off_, he thinks, half-amused and half-annoyed. He wishes he could tell these things to Sho, right at his face just to see how he’ll react. For a fleeting moment, he entertains the idea. And because no one can hear him, he decides to be honest.  
  
_And I’m not entirely sure I want to._  
  
  
  
  
**2006**  
  
“Super soul!” the audience screams along with Ohno. “We are go, go, go, go!”  
  
Jun’s in a fedora and has opted for shades despite the darkness of the venue and still the people recognize him. He wants to admonish them a bit for it, to stop watching him when they’re all here for Ohno, but his appearance is not really the reason why people spotted them so easily.  
  
It’s the person right beside him.  
  
_You’re embarrassing_, Jun thinks as he watches Sho dance while Oretachi no Song is booming through the speakers. Such a stupid choreography for a stupid song, but Jun finds himself singing the lyrics anyway, even if they don’t make sense.  
  
Sho’s antics continue and eventually escalate when he tries to climb over the railing as a joke, and Jun laughs. He laughs with the rest of the juniors with them, out of combined amusement and fondness. He only shows the latter because Sho isn’t watching, too focused onstage and on Ohno.  
  
Sho’s dancing could use more work as usual, but Jun sneaks a glance in his direction every now and then. The older he becomes, the sillier he gets. The piercings are still there, but he’s not the same person who used to yell at Jun for calling at four in the morning. He’s gone softer now, preferring to talk things through instead of lashing against the other party until he wins an argument. He’s a different person when he’s hungry though, less reasonable to talk with and more prone to taking out his frustration at the service to the poor restaurant staff. But that doesn’t happen often.  
  
Right now, it’s difficult to knock some sense into Sho for a different reason. He’s having a great time, jumping around in place, his movements too big and eye-catching that it distracts not only the audience but also Ohno, who can’t help laughing while he’s singing. Jun wonders why he chose to accompany this man when he could’ve gone with Aiba or Nino.  
  
_You know why_, he hears himself, and he shushes it as quickly as it came. Everyone’s too focused on Ohno to notice, and Jun’s gaze falls on Sho, who’s clapping to the beat while shaking his hips. It’s hard to believe he’s the one who pursued higher education out of the five of them.  
  
“Told you I can’t sit still,” Sho says. He’s warned Jun before, back when Jun said that he’d like to see a concert with Sho. “With such a big space, I just have to make use of it.”  
  
“Of course,” Jun says, grateful for his shades since Sho can’t really tell where he’s looking at. It’s been years since he last allowed himself to _look_, and he can’t deny liking what he sees. Sho’s always been deficient in things that require athleticism, but it doesn’t mean he isn’t gifted. He is, and he’s spent that past hour shaking it right in front of Jun, who has to remind himself that he can only look but never touch.  
  
He’s not Aiba who can easily and nonchalantly do that. He can only watch a concert with the guy, have dinner with him, but that’s it. He can’t go beyond that. He doesn’t think he’ll allow himself to.  
  
“What more if I’m drunk?” Sho asks with a laugh, wiping away the beads of perspiration that accumulated over his eyebrows.  
  
“You’re too much to handle as always,” Jun tells him. Ohno’s gone backstage for a costume change and everyone’s chatting to themselves. The juniors surrounding them are too busy recounting the coolest and most interesting bits from the first half to even listen to them.  
  
“I know,” Sho says, and there’s a certain shift to his voice that makes Jun look at him. Even behind the shades, there’s no denying that Sho’s got his attention now, and Sho knows it. He looks almost triumphant, even. “Not a lot of people can deal with me when I’m like this. It’s why I brought you along.”  
  
If Jun’s cheeks redden, he can’t quite tell. His mouth feels like it’s stopped working for a brief moment. But then he regains his senses and says without much bite, “I’m not your babysitter.”  
  
He looks away just as Sho laughs, loud and spirited, and it’s back. The funny feeling at the pit of his stomach returns with the sound of Sho’s laughter, and he hates it. Hates himself for feeling like this, hates Ohno and this stupid concert, hates that damn song that he can’t get out of his head.  
  
But he hates Sho the most, and he wishes Sho would know. More so when Sho scoots closer, voice so low it’s only Jun who hears what he has to say next, his warm breath fanning against Jun’s ear and nearly causing Jun to shiver if he didn’t catch himself on time.  
  
“You keep me in line, Matsujun,” Sho whispers, like no one’s supposed to know. What does it even mean? Jun doesn’t understand and he’s frozen, too shocked to react properly. How is it so easy for Sho to slip past his defenses every time? “You always do.”  
  
_You’re the absolute worst_, Jun wants to say, the accusation consuming him, gnawing at how raw it feels.  
  
Is it love? Or like?  
  
Jun shuts his eyes and gives up, lets the admission burn fiercely inside him, his own heartbeat drumming against his ears and as loud as the bass that surrounds them.  
  
_Even from before_, he thinks fiercely, angrily—helplessly.  
  
If Sho hears it, he won’t be surprised.  
  
\--  
  
“Asia?” Sho repeats, voice a whisper. “Are you serious?”  
  
“Totally,” Jun says. The line cracks with static, distorting the last few syllables, but he can’t quite tell if it’s because of the connection or the impulses that makes his heart beat madly, wildly. This is it. The beginning of everything.  
  
“No way,” Sho says, then he laughs breathlessly, disbelievingly. “No way, Matsujun. Are you for real? An Asia tour?”  
  
“Yes,” Jun says, adrenaline spiking inside him. He can’t sit still so he paces back and forth, thrilled that this is finally happening. “They want us to perform in Korea and Taiwan.”  
  
“Do we even have fans there?” Sho asks, incredulous. “How will they understand us?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Jun says, then it’s his turn to laugh. It all sounds ridiculous if put this way. Five Japanese men singing Japanese songs to an audience who probably won’t understand half the things they say. And they’ll get paid to do it. “I don’t know, Sho-kun. But it’s happening.”  
  
He hears Sho exhale followed by a small laugh. “Congratulations?”  
  
“Are you asking me?” Jun says, blinking.  
  
Sho laughs again. He sounds so carefree now that his responsibilities are solely those that involve Arashi. No more irritation or agitation. “You’re one of the people who made it happen.”  
  
“The five of us made it happen,” Jun corrects pointedly.  
  
“But you’re the one who wanted it the most, right?” Sho asks, and it amazes Jun that he can simply tell. Is he so transparent? “You’ve done it.”  
  
“I didn’t,” Jun insists. “We did.”  
  
Sho shrugs, but he’s far from annoyed. He hasn’t been that way for a long time, not with Jun. “I can’t believe it. Asia. Do you hear yourself? What you just told me?”  
  
If he’s being honest, it’s unbelievable and overwhelming. An Asia tour sounded impossible when no one would buy their CD that they had to sell it for a lower price and have convenience stores sell it aside from record bars. And now they’re here.  
  
The five of them. Arashi.  
  
“I want xiao long bao,” he says unbidden, and there’s a brief moment of Sho not saying anything until it’s broken by Sho’s undeniable laugh, like he’s truly tickled by Jun’s sudden admission.  
  
“Let’s all eat xiao long bao,” Sho says. “In Taiwan, yeah?”  
  
Jun finds himself smiling, his heartbeat still erratic. He won’t find sleep so easily, not tonight.  
  
“Yeah,” he agrees, imagining it. “Yeah, let’s do that.”  
  
  
  
  
**2009**  
  
It’s a shame his phone camera can’t capture the look of horror on Sho’s face right now as he outlines the kind of entrance he wants for their tenth anniversary. It’s their second year to perform in Kokuritsu and the second time means Jun has more or less an idea of what’s possible for the production staff and what isn’t.  
  
Flying is one of the possible things. And he wants to do it.  
  
“We have to fly across the stadium?” Sho repeats, his face pale. He’s kind of amusing to look at but Jun refrains from laughing because this is a serious matter. “To where the torch is? Why?”  
  
“It will look great,” Jun says. “It’s our tenth anniversary. I don’t want us to do a jump entrance with pyrotechnics. We’ve done that for years.”  
  
Sho visibly swallows just as Ohno pats his knee. They all know about Sho’s acrophobia, but he’s got no choice when Jun’s already made the other three agree.  
  
“The wires are perfectly safe,” Jun adds. “They’re made of the same material I used to do the walk for Yabai and they will hold. In case you’re worried they won’t.”  
  
Sho says nothing, still looking at the papers where Jun wrote the kind of stadium entrance he wanted. The longer Sho continues with the silence, the more Jun knows he’s bound to win.  
  
“I could buy you an expensive mango,” he offers when the silence stretches, and he hears Aiba snicker followed by Ohno’s quiet chuckles. Nino’s just smiling, watching the exchange with careful eyes. “You bribed me with mangoes when I didn’t want to do rowing. Come on.”  
  
“How long is Kansha again?” Sho asks, voice small.  
  
“Almost five minutes,” Jun answers. “But we’ll only be up in the air for half of that, most likely.”  
  
When Sho nods, it’s small and almost imperceptible but Jun catches it, and this time he can’t help smiling when he sees the resigned look on Sho’s face. It’s like he knows he has no choice but to give up the fight.  
  
“I want that mango,” Sho says quietly, and Jun promises to give him one sometime this week.  
  
He doesn’t tell Sho about flying for Truth as well. Not yet.  
  
\--  
  
The phone call surprises him. To his knowledge, they finished wrapping up all the discussions before they parted ways, and he has no idea why Sho’s calling him at this time. It’s three in the morning.  
  
He stares at the caller ID for a few moments, briefly wondering what he’d do if he were younger. He’d be thrilled, surely, and pick up almost immediately. He was too eager, too open, too honest. His eyes revealed everything, and whenever Sho was around, he smiled too often, leaving nothing to interpretation. Everyone who saw probably knew how he felt back then.  
  
But he’s no longer that Jun. The Jun now is thinking of not answering at all since he’s halfway under the covers and it seems like a Herculean task to swipe answer. He sighs, shuffles a bit in bed, and picks up.  
  
“Yes?” he asks, aware that his voice is scratchy. “Hello?”  
  
“Matsujun,” Sho says, and he sounds too awake. Jun envies him. “Matsujun, hello. I’m sorry. I know it’s late.”  
  
Jun blinks back the sleepiness away, turning on his side as he shuts his eyes. “What is it?” The Jun then would probably say it’s all right and it doesn’t matter, would likely ask with enthusiasm what his Sho-kun wanted to say. But Jun’s twenty-six and tired and much as his feelings for Sho still remained, he’s not that naive to grant this privilege to Sho.  
  
“I called you first as soon as I knew,” Sho says excitedly, and that makes Jun open one eye in question. “Is now a good time?”  
  
Jun wants to roll his eyes at the timing but doesn’t, instead makes some noncommittal grunt and says, “Out with it,” because he’s already awake. The damage has been done.  
  
“Sorry,” Sho says like he suddenly remembers, then his voice brightens up when he says, “Kouhaku. We’re appearing in Kouhaku.”  
  
The words don’t register at first. But when they do, Jun has to sit up in the middle of his bed, phone now pressed tightly against his ear, his eyes wide. “What?”  
  
Sho hums. “Yep, you heard that right. We’re doing Kouhaku. They just called to inform me of it. Well, they told Satoshi-kun first but he’s probably asleep so he hasn’t reached out to any of us as far as I know, but—”  
  
“Kouhaku?” Jun repeats, cutting him off. “What?”  
  
“I know,” Sho says, laughing. “It’s crazy, right? But somewhat fitting? It’s our tenth anniversary.”  
  
“No way,” Jun says. “No way. How come my manager never told me?”  
  
“You probably got a message already sometime during the night,” Sho explains. “I just happened to be the only one awake out of the five of us, so now I’m doing the calling because I can’t believe it.”  
  
“What did Nino say? And Aiba-kun? Leader?” Jun asks, unable to hide the elation in his voice. Kouhaku with the five of them. The four people he took a gamble with and now it’s all paying off. It all started with the Asia tour; they simply took off since then, doing things only the five of them could.  
  
He wants to laugh and have a drink. Maybe with the other four members who are always by his side. But it’s late.  
  
“Uh,” Sho says, and Jun adds a questioning hum. “I don’t know,” he admits, laughing quietly, almost shyly. Jun’s almost certain he is mishearing things, brain still trapped between sleep-addled and somewhat awake. “You’re the first person I called when I found out.”  
  
Jun stops then, digesting the words. _You don’t mean that_, he almost says. _You don’t mean it like that. It doesn’t mean like that._ But the words took hold already and his heart is an untamed, wild thing, furiously beating and aware.  
  
So aware.  
  
“You’re the first person I wanted to know,” Sho continues, then he laughs a little again. He always laughs. When things become awkward and somewhat uncomfortable between them, the tension is almost always broken by Sho’s breathy laugh. It’s his way of dissipating the discomfort that’s about to settle. “I’m glad you picked up, really.”  
  
It’s been thirteen years since they first met and Jun thinks this is the first time he’s heard those words from Sho, that Sho’s pleased that he answered. The Sho he knew from youth doesn’t talk like that, doesn’t feel like that. The Sho from then hated late-night phone calls but picked up anyway, letting out his displeasure all the time as he listened to Jun’s ramblings anyway.  
  
The Sho from then was someone he didn’t fully understand. But that didn’t mean he understands the Sho now because he doesn't. He’s always at a disadvantage when it comes to Sho—with anyone else, he figures them all out easily, almost too quickly. With Sho, he’s always lost and unsure, always prone to making misinterpretations because he can’t quite balance the truth and what he’s been hoping for after all these years.  
  
After all these years. It’s ridiculous.  
  
He feels like he hasn’t learned a thing since then, still a slave to late-night conversations with this man. It’s been too long since they last did this, but the plunge in his gut that he feels is still present. Like a fire that burns steadily, stubbornly.  
  
He finds himself humming in agreement, resigning himself to the truth. It’s Sho and no matter what, Jun will always pick up. It’s never been the other way around.  
  
“I’m glad I did, too,” he admits because there’s no other thing he feels whenever Sho calls. It’s always the same and has been that way since.  
  
He swears he’s not imagining things when he hears Sho smile on the other line.  
  
  
  
  
**2010**  
  
Neither of them are Lady Gaga fans but Jun really wanted to see her perform so he could take notes on how an American production does a concert. That doesn’t explain how he ended up inviting Sho though, who surprisingly agrees too quickly. Immediately.  
  
“Sure,” Sho says when Jun asks the first and only time. “Why not?”  
  
They agreed to meet up at the venue to make it less suspicious, and Jun wants to laugh at himself. He’s not with a girlfriend. The last concert he’d been to with a girlfriend was Oda Kazumasa’s, and he was far less nervous that night compared to tonight. It’s not like the paparazzi will be out there, waiting for two idols who decided that watching Lady Gaga together is a fantastic idea.  
  
He doesn’t know why he can’t stay still despite the two of them standing together, surrounded by the rest of overexcited, easily amazed audience. Everybody’s too preoccupied with the screen to look around them, and he and Sho are both wearing caps to hide their faces. Jun’s even thrown in a mask because of how his face is, and he’s pretty certain he took enough measures to make sure nobody ends up with a photo of him and Sho together.  
  
The show proves to be as exciting as promised, with him cheering along with the audience and directing some of those cheers in Sho’s direction, who pointedly never glanced at him at least once. If he’s regretting coming tonight with Jun, it won’t be a surprise, given the way he’s been acting.  
  
The encore wraps up and people move to leave the venue, and Jun remains there with his phone in his hand, reviewing his notes. The pyrotechnic cues left an impression on him and he wants to try that for their future shows someday. Maybe for this year’s album tour.  
  
“Matsujun,” Sho says, half-mumbling the words because if anyone hears him, it’ll cause a scene. “Did you have fun?”  
  
“I did,” Jun says, raising an eyebrow in question. “Did you?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sho says, and even with his head lowered and his cap concealing half of his face, Jun can see the hints of a grin.  
  
“You’ve had more fun in the last concert we’ve seen together,” Jun says, and he somewhat expects the laugh Sho lets out in delight.  
  
“I can’t dance Poker Face here,” Sho says, gaze fanning out in gesture, and Jun shrugs.  
  
“I’m not sure,” he says. “You found a way to do it before.”  
  
“Not when it’s like this,” Sho says, like he’s making sense. “Glad you’re here to keep me in line like the last time.”  
  
Jun rolls his eyes, locking his phone before slipping it back in the pocket of his jeans. “I barely did anything the last time. You were just...I don’t know, far more adventurous that time, maybe.”  
  
“Do you regret inviting me?” Sho suddenly asks, voice all serious, and Jun glances at him for a second. His cap is in the way and because of it, Jun can’t tell what he’s thinking.  
  
There’s a lump in his throat that makes it difficult for him to form words. “No,” he says honestly, quietly. Half of the arena is already devoid of people, and they have to leave soon. Part ways until the following workday. “What kind of person would invite someone if they didn’t want them to come?”  
  
He’s being defensive when he looks away, watches the sea of people become thinner and thinner as rows keep filing out as neatly as the ushers manage. He wonders if the aftermath of their own concerts end as smoothly as this. It should if it doesn’t. He makes a mental note to ask once the planning meetings for the upcoming album tour begin.  
  
“I’m glad you invited me,” Sho tells him, and Jun wishes he didn’t. The nerves are back and he feels as if the spotlight is suddenly on him, like he’s being asked to climb the stage and do something entertaining. His ribcage feels insufficient to contain all that he feels, a rush of everything all at once. “You don’t do that lately. Not as much as before.”  
  
“I—” he tries, except Sho speaks again and his mouth can’t seem to work.  
  
“I remember dedicating my entire summer to you,” Sho continues with a soft smile, the corner of his mouth turned up. Jun wishes he can see Sho’s face for this, not this image of him being half-obscured by his favorite cap. “We sure had lots of free time then, but lately, you don’t really invite me anymore. Out of all the members, I go out with you the least when I used to hang out with you the most. And that’s saying a lot because Nino hardly leaves his house but I’ve accidentally went grocery shopping with that guy lately.”  
  
He’s rambling and Jun can’t really tell what he wants to say. He said so many things all at once and Jun can’t focus on the most important thing. Something stings inside him for the briefest of moments, a flash of a second, then it’s gone, replaced by the familiar feeling of confusion and elation, something he can’t unravel.  
  
“And with Aiba-chan, I go shopping for clothes. Satoshi-kun took me out to sea a couple of weeks back, and even though all I did was hang out with the captain because he’s too busy fishing on his own to teach me, it was still fun,” Sho is saying, the words blurring over each other. He’ll be worst when drunk, Jun knows. He’s completely sober and yet he’s saying such terrifying things.  
  
“Aiba-chan told me he’s glad I said yes because everyone else was unavailable,” Sho says, not really looking at him. “I’m the last person you invited. But that doesn’t matter; I’m glad I said yes and came. Because it’s been a while since you last did.”  
  
Jun is lost, the arena and the empty seats in front of him suddenly disappearing. He doesn’t understand why something like that would make Sho happy. It’s him who’s been sort of in love with Sho for so long, not the other way around. It never means like he wants it to mean, and yet it’s like he never really learned his lesson. Somehow he feels like something is his fault and he has to apologize, but he doesn’t really know how.  
  
They’ve grown distant for some time, but that was before. Jun thinks they are past that phase, or at least he is. He’s beginning to loosen up, and each day at work he becomes more comfortable with doing stupid stuff with the rest of Arashi because making them all laugh seems to be worth it. He used to want to be the comedy leader.  
  
But he doesn’t know how to navigate his way around this, not when Sho speaks like this. It’s too honest and too close to what his younger self may have hoped. If it had been Ohno, it would have been too easy to throw an arm around his shoulders, squeeze tight before saying sorry. Nino would never say something like this. And if Aiba did, his excited laugh would break the mood and cause Jun to laugh too.  
  
But this is Sho. Sho who never really went away despite the number of relationships Jun had, the number of people he’s been with. He’ll always have a weak spot that’s saved for Sho alone, and it seems to grow each time Sho admits something like this.  
  
“You’re the busiest one out of everyone,” Jun finds himself saying, a poor excuse that no one will buy. But he has to say something. “I didn’t want to impose.”  
  
“Invite me again next time,” Sho says, just as the ushers make their way for their row next.  
  
“You have your own plans,” Jun points out, knowing that Sho divides his time between groups of friends—from university to Olympic athletes to fellow actors in the industry to their kouhais in the company. He’s too popular and respected.  
  
“It’s like you’re saying I won’t make time for you,” Sho says when they stand and head for the exit together, and each step they make seems to echo. “You really think that?”  
  
_I don’t_, Jun thinks. _I know. I’ve known for years._  
  
“I don’t think I want to take that risk,” he admits finally once they’re outside and Yokohama’s nightlife is right before their eyes. The lights blend together and the sounds fuse, the perfect illusion of privacy as Jun says something he’s been carrying for years. “I’ve done that before.”  
  
He can still remember promising to wait up for Sho outside the gates of Keio and Sho turning him down and telling him to find more important things to do. Jun knows how to take a hint and he knows when something is a lost cause. He’s given up on Sho on this and it’ll be foolish to set himself up for disappointment again.  
  
He faces Sho and inclines his head in farewell. “Thanks for tonight. I had fun. I’ll see you at work.” It’s stiff and awkward, but before he can take a step back, Sho opens his mouth.  
  
“Do you want to get dinner?” Sho asks, finally looking up, eyes hopeful. There’s something else too, but Jun can’t define it for what it is. He’s too wrapped up in many conflicting, strong emotions. “If you won’t invite me, I will. Let’s get a late dinner somewhere.”  
  
The persistence Jun hears is hard to reconcile with the Sho in front of him. “I can’t cook,” Sho says like Jun doesn’t know. “And I don’t want to eat alone.”  
  
Jun exhales, feeling like the entirety of Yokohama is watching them despite the people minding their business. He takes another look at Sho’s face and gives up.  
  
He says yes.  
  
\--  
  
He falls behind during rehearsals because of the drama, but not as much as expected. Sho stays late despite having work that begins at seven in the morning, and Jun is thankful for it. Sho keeps him updated, diligently pointing out details no one else would. He’s efficient and reliable and it’s a little difficult to look at him when he’s so focused on specifying cues for Jun.  
  
It reminds Jun of the time Sho was tutoring him. They’ve come a long way from that, but it feels exactly like that the longer he listens to Sho speak, the later the night becomes.  
  
And like before, Jun inevitably falls all the more.  
  
  
  
  
**2011**  
  
For someone who’s sensitive to extremes of temperatures, Jun is used to getting cold easily. The normal room temperature of 25 degrees Celsius is too cold for him. It’s known in Arashi, so when he has to go topless for his stage play, he prepares himself physically and mentally for it.  
  
He spends hours at the gym and uses the equipment close to where the air conditioning is, and he thinks he’s more or less a little used to it by the time the stage play opens for public viewing.  
  
He’s onstage and the spotlight’s on him and he’s delivering his lines perfectly as his gaze sweeps down the entire hall when his heart stops. It’s cold and he’s being too careful not to shiver but almost does when he sees him, and it’s all kinds of exhilarating to see him here.  
  
There is Zero tonight.  
  
Sho did jokingly say he’d bring Jun’s uchiwa when he goes to watch the play, but there’s no uchiwa to give him away. He’s in a knit cap and a face mask and it could be anyone else but Jun knows from the shoulders. It’s him. It’s him here in Saitama when he probably has to go back to Tokyo immediately to prepare for Zero.  
  
Jun doesn’t shiver despite wanting to, and it’s a strange thing to feel detached from a character while he’s simultaneously all too aware of what he does. He gives his all to his performance, screams at the top of his lungs as rehearsed and receives deafening applause.  
  
When their eyes meet, Jun sees pride as Sho claps hard, and despite him sitting a couple of rows away, it’s almost like Jun hears him.  
  
“You didn’t have to go today,” is what he says when he gets backstage, to his dressing room where his manager has kindly escorted Sho. “Not when you have work.”  
  
“I have to go back soon,” Sho says, eyes on his watch. “Got five minutes.”  
  
Jun smiles, an aftereffect of the performance and perhaps because of Sho’s presence. “Fewer than that, maybe.”  
  
“Maybe,” Sho echoes, and his lips twitch, pointing at somewhere behind Jun, placed rather conspicuously on the chair right in front of the dresser. The only reason Jun hasn’t noticed it is that he was too preoccupied with Sho actually taking the time to go all the way to Saitama despite his schedule.  
  
Sho takes the bouquet and hands it over, precious sunflowers wrapped in colorful paper. He probably asked his poor manager to get it for him, too busy to choose for himself in a flower shop. Besides, if he did, he’d likely startle the shopkeeper and start a wild rumor about Sakurai Sho buying flowers for a girlfriend.  
  
“Congratulations,” Sho says, beaming. This is the smile Jun looks forward to seeing during Monday nights when he watches Zero at home. “You did really well.”  
  
“You didn’t have to,” Jun says, but he accepts anyway, their fingers brushing. It’s electric and he holds himself still to not give anything away, keeping his cool despite his nerves on overdrive, impulses coursing through his spine. “But thank you.” He casts a pointed glance at Sho’s wrist. “You have to go.”  
  
“Yeah,” Sho says, just as his phone rings. He shows Jun the caller ID and Jun laughs, already imagining the irritated expression Sho’s manager will have for him. “Good luck on the next shows.”  
  
“Thank you,” Jun says once more, and before Sho disappears out of the door, adds, “Take care on the way back.”  
  
Sho flashes him a thumbs up and is gone the next moment, and because no one can finally catch him doing it, Jun lets it happen.  
  
He shivers.  
  
\--  
  
He repays the favor by dropping a visit to Sho’s dressing room while Sho’s filming for his drama, and the way the staff accommodates him has him thanking them for taking care of Sho for the past two months.  
  
Sho’s got a month of filming to go as Kageyama, and Jun decided to drop by with a couple of souvenirs for the crew, something Sho is grateful for. Jun’s own drama filming is about to start as soon as the stage play concludes, and Sho seems to remind him of it with the way he introduces Jun to the staff.  
  
The butler outfit somewhat suits him, and combined with the glasses, he looks smarter than ever. Jun’s seen most of the drama so far and admits that it’s one Sho’s characters that he’s a little charmed by—Kageyama’s acerbic tongue caters to the masochistic side of Jun that seems to exist only for Sho. He’s been dubbed a sadist by Aiba and the others and has been carrying that descriptor well for many years now, but even he has his secrets.  
  
“I think Keiko-chan liked the cakes,” Sho says when they’re alone in Sho’s dressing room and Jun’s busying himself with looking around. He snickers at the sight of the scented candles but says nothing. “Thank you for bringing them.”  
  
Jun waves him off. “I heard that my drama will be using the studio right next to yours.”  
  
Sho still has the glasses on and every shift of his expression seems to be more obvious because of it. “Really? Then come visit me as soon as you guys start over there. Your stageplay’s wrapping up, right?”  
  
“It is,” Jun confirms, studying his cuticles. He’s thrilled that he’s already being welcomed to Sho’s drama studio, but he’s not Jun if he doesn’t throw the words back. “How about you visit me instead? When we start over there.”  
  
“In my butler outfit?” Sho looks appalled, like he’d say no.  
  
Jun waits.  
  
Until Sho sighs. “I’ll probably give your co-stars a shock when I do.”  
  
When, he said. Not if. Jun’s certain he heard it correctly and he smiles.  
  
“Well then, I’ll be expecting you,” he says with finality, confidently. Lately, he’s noticed that it’s becoming easier to make Sho do what he wants. Sho will make a fuss, groan with exaggeration or complain about having to do it, but he’ll do it. He won’t just for anybody else.  
  
But he’ll do it for Jun.  
  
And Jun’s kind of experimenting with how far Sho will go just because he asked for it. It’s fun to see the odds evening out; there are things Jun has done and will continue to do because Sho’s the person involved.  
  
But unlike Sho, he’ll never tell.  
  
Sho sighs like he’s been defeated, shaking his head. “You’ve always been spoiled.”  
  
Jun keeps his silence, but his mind races.  
  
_I know_, he almost says but holds it, contains it and keeps the words trapped.  
  
He got Sho just like how he got others.  
  
  
  
  
**2014**  
  
Ohno’s a handful when drunk and maybe that’s why they’re the ones stuck together. Nino and Aiba are having their own round of drinks in Aiba’s room while Sho’s busy doing filming for Yakai, and of course, him being a workaholic sparks a stupid idea in Ohno’s mind.  
  
“I want to see Sho-chan,” Ohno slurs, half collapsing against Jun. He’s been crying and laughing for the past couple of hours, sometimes simultaneously. Now he wants something else aside from all the drinks he’s asked Jun for. “I want to see him. I miss him.”  
  
“We were with him only a few hours ago,” Jun points out. He wants to say he’s not as drunk as Ohno, but if he was sober, he’d be pushing Ohno off him instead of letting his weight sag against his chest. The alcohol’s gotten to him too.  
  
“Don’t care,” Ohno says stubbornly. “I want to see him.” He stands and nearly stumbles but catches himself in time—he’s always had lightning reflexes. “Come on. Come on, Matsujun. Come with me. Let’s go see him.”  
  
His feet seem to have a mind of their own when they follow Ohno, trudging after him through the hall after barely remembering to lock his door. Ohno’s laughing as they head for Sho’s room, hand intertwined with Jun’s, and Ohno’s the one who presses the doorbell. Jun sobers up a little when Sho opens the door, but his mouth is out of his control when he spots the Yakai cameraman behind Sho. He speaks German that makes little sense while Ohno tries to strangle Sho, and the sight of it awakens something buried inside Jun for so long.  
  
If Ohno was overcome with the sudden need to see Sho earlier, Jun is now swept with the urgent desire to just touch. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s Hawaii. Or maybe it’s the way Ohno’s got those tanned hands of his wrapped around the thick column of Sho’s throat.  
  
Before he can think on it, he wraps both arms around their forms, holding Ohno and Sho close in a group hug. Thanks to the proximity, he catches a whiff of Spam and cooking oil from Sho and hard liquor from Ohno, and decides they have to go. He probably doesn’t smell any better.  
  
They leave and head back to Ohno’s room where they drink some more, cry some more, laugh some more. Jun hardly remembers all of it. But he does remember tucking Ohno to bed and kissing his forehead in farewell, snickering at Ohno’s quiet mumble of “Hawaii is truly the best,” like he hasn’t been saying that for days now.  
  
When he heads back to his own room, he’s chuckling to himself as he recalls Ohno’s tears from earlier. It’s perhaps four or five in the morning, and rehearsals don’t start until the afternoon because they have to compromise with the hotel management after receiving complaints from some of the guests. His feet feel heavier than usual and each step requires effort, but when he looks up, it’s Sho.  
  
Sho’s leaning against the wall right beside the door to Jun’s room, and he’s got an eyebrow quirked and a small smile when he looks at Jun from head to foot. “How much did you drink?”  
  
Jun waves his hand. He’s lost count.  
  
“That much, huh,” Sho says, stepping aside to let Jun slip his keycard into the slot. The tiny green light grants him entry, and Sho follows inside even without an invitation. Jun doesn’t glance behind him, but he knows Sho is right behind him when Sho speaks again. “How’s Satoshi-kun?”  
  
Jun waves his hand again, this time gesturing to himself, and Sho laughs. Everything seems slower because of how heavy his head feels. He needs to sleep.  
  
“Aiba-chan and Nino are totally out as well,” Sho informs him. How is he so goddamn cheerful when they’re all reeling from Hawaii-related feelings? It’s impossible that he didn’t drink a thing even for Yakai. “Here, let me.”  
  
Jun’s not even aware he’s been unsuccessfully trying to unhook his shell necklace for the past few seconds, but Sho’s fingers brushing against his nape leaves a jolt that travels straight down his spine, all the way to his toes. He straightens as a reaction and Sho huffs in laughter.  
  
“Sorry, sorry,” Sho apologizes. “I know you hate being approached from behind. Hold still, this’ll come off soon.”  
  
Sho manages to successfully undo the clasp, handing the necklace over. Their fingers brush because of how uncalculated Jun’s movements are, and Jun bites back the apology he almost says. Instead, he rounds his bed and deposits his necklace on the bedside table, the buzz in his ears yet to disappear.  
  
He’s too drunk to be a good host to Sho. He has no idea why Sho’s here.  
  
He proceeds to change without minding Sho’s presence. If Sho’s looking around, Jun lets him. It’s not like he’ll find some secret mascot hidden in Jun’s closet. Jun changes for bed and when he’s in an old concert shirt and a pair of boxers, he opts to sit on the edge of his bed while Sho has perched himself against the dresser.  
  
“Do you want anything?” Jun asks, tilting his head to where the leftover drinks are. He and Ohno were originally drinking in this room until they decided to relocate to Ohno’s because Ohno had this one drink he wanted them both to try.  
  
Sho shakes his head and Jun nods to himself. “Suit yourself,” he says, climbing under the covers. “I’m going to bed.”  
  
“Won’t you puke sometime in the morning?” Sho asks teasingly, and Jun wordlessly gestures for him to fuck off which earns another laugh. Sho always laughs. It’s a little annoying that nothing can get on his nerves nowadays when everything used to.  
  
“You can always show yourself out,” Jun says, not unkindly, but because he’s bound to fall asleep at any moment. He thinks he’s dreaming when he hears Sho approach, feels the side of the bed dip, and sees Sho staring down at him when he cracks an eye open.  
  
“Matsujun,” Sho says, or maybe he’s dreaming this. This can’t be happening. The sheets are too soft against his back, the pillows too comfortable. He can’t move. “I asked you before.”  
  
Jun doesn’t understand, but Sho continues. Sho’s face is obscured by shadows, his voice too low as if anyone else will hear them. _This is definitely a dream_, Jun thinks. Why else would Sho be here? He’s only in Jun’s room when Jun’s too tired to stop the recurrent imaginings of Sho doing so and it often happens when he’s drunk and his defenses are practically non-existent.  
  
“I asked you before: is it love? Or like?” Sho says, and Jun thinks he’s mishearing things. Or this is one vivid imagination that’s gotten out of control, like Pandora opening the forbidden chest. It hits too close to home. “Do you remember? It’s been fifteen years. Or fourteen. I don’t really remember. But do you?”  
  
Jun does, but he can’t speak. He can only look at Sho, the lines of his face beginning to blur. Sleep is taking hold and dragging Jun down to the depths, and Jun succumbs.  
  
“I’ll wait,” he thinks he hears. Or maybe he doesn’t. Wait? Wait for what?  
  
Come morning, Jun wakes with a killer headache that leaves him in a sour mood, cursing alcohol and Ohno under his breath until the painkillers work their magic.  
  
There’s no trace of Sho visiting his room and Jun believes he’s dreamt the entire encounter.  
  
\--  
  
Sho sticks around for the rehearsals despite the lateness of the hour, despite Jun telling him that he’ll keep him posted and he can go. He’s done with filming for the DVD extras, and now that he’s completely paying attention to the changes Jun wants for his solo, it’s a little distracting. It’s late and some of the staff are close to dozing off, mumbling in agreement when Jun’s certain they only understand half of the things he’s saying. But Sho’s alert and nodding in understanding, and by the end of it, it’s as if only him and Jun are the ones with a concrete idea of how Sho’s solo will go.  
  
“You didn’t have to stay,” Jun says when everyone’s packing up and Sho’s got his backpack slung over his shoulder. “I said I’ll update you.”  
  
“Yeah but I like to know what’s going on,” Sho says. He checks his watch and doesn’t suppress his yawn, fingers fluttering in farewell. “See you later.”  
  
Jun simply nods and watches him leave. He’s talked with the others about their solos but Sho’s always the one who stays behind. He’s been doing that since Jun became unable to attend rehearsals back when he had a drama that coincided with their tour, and he’s become a constant in the planning that Jun is somewhat used to seeing him dropping by whenever he can.  
  
Sho’s not always around, but when he is, Jun feels like he’s accomplished something with the rest of the staff, that the discussions have reached a satisfying conclusion, something they can transmit to the audience that’ll leave them in awe. It’s not that he’s more creative when Sho’s around; that side of him has long disappeared. It’s just that with Sho around, it’s easier to express himself because when he can’t, Sho takes over and rephrases Jun’s words like it’s so easy for him to understand Jun when the staff members surrounding them are completely unable to.  
  
In many ways, Sho achieves the impossible. Sometimes Jun wonders how his attraction can last for years, but not tonight. Tonight it makes sense.  
  
  
  
  
**2015**  
  
It’s the peak of the night life on this side of Tokyo when Jun checks his watch.  
  
He knows he’s a little late and if it had been Shun or Toma, they’d be complete assholes about it and chide him, say how much of a jerk he is by never showing up on time.  
  
But he’s not meeting Shun or Toma. They’re too busy with their own individual work to hang out.  
  
He enters the establishment and is led to a private room, and he’s certain some of the patrons have noticed his presence but all he gives them is a subtle nod before heading on his way. Sho’s been waiting for a while, nursing a glass of beer when Jun enters the room and slides across the seat before ordering something for himself.  
  
Meetings like this have become frequent lately. It’s become easier for Jun to accept casual invites from Sho where they discuss nothing and everything of importance—about work, the latest celebrity gossip they overheard, their own private lives. Jun’s hung out with everyone in Arashi with regularity for this to be considered something unusual but there’s still that certain twist in his gut when it’s Sho he sees across the table.  
  
“Miyagi, huh,” Sho says, nodding. He’s the first person Jun spoke to about it. “I miss performing in stadiums.”  
  
“I was thinking of flying,” Jun says immediately, not bothering to hide his grin when Sho makes a face. His drink arrives and he waits until the door is closed before he speaks again. “I know you hate it, but we’re all going to ride this gondola that’ll send us up in the air, close to the fans in the stands above. It’s never been done before and I think it’ll be great.”  
  
“I know it will,” Sho says, sipping his drink. “But I know you. You’ll be shaking that gondola in no time.”  
  
Jun makes a face of pure innocence, trying not to laugh when Sho gives him this unimpressed look. “It’ll be completely stable. Safe. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.”  
  
“It’s not the technology that scares me,” Sho says, shaking his head. “It’s what you’ll most likely do when you’re with Aiba-chan and Nino.”  
  
“We’ll try to grow up a little before the shows start,” Jun promises, his voice so saccharine sweet that only earns him a disbelieving look from Sho. It’s fun to tease him like this because he’s so expressive at his disapproval. That part of him never really went away. If he dislikes something, he doesn’t fake it.  
  
“How are things from your side?” Sho asks, and it’s Jun’s cue to start talking. They see each other every week for work, but with the staff around, it’s hard to talk about the more personal things. He knows exactly what Sho is asking about; it’s impossible he and the others haven’t heard.  
  
“Fine, I guess,” Jun says. He’s putting it lightly; he just recently called it quits with a nine-year relationship. Nine years and despite the annual rumors of him tying the knot, he never did. “Things aren’t really working too well for her.”  
  
“This industry is not that kind to women,” Sho says. “Double standards, really.”  
  
“Are you saying the paparazzi should be pestering me as well?” Jun asks. “To my knowledge, they don’t know about this. And hopefully, they’ll never.”  
  
“But with you being linked to her for nearly a decade, I just think it’s strange that they never actively tried to get answers from you as much as they did from her,” Sho points out. “Not taking sides here, of course. I just think the tabloids are twice as hard on her.”  
  
“They were,” Jun says, hoping for the best. The only reason he doesn’t want the paparazzi to know is that he hates seeing them waiting for him after work at the company building. But if they have to know in order for them to leave her alone, then maybe that’s better. He doesn’t really know. He’s kept the media on the dark for years, never confirming or denying anything. “Are you surprised I don’t sound as disappointed as you were probably expecting?”  
  
“Matsujun,” Sho says lightly, a small grin on his face, “I know you. You act all tough when you have to and that’s something I respect about you. If you don’t want to talk about this, I won’t force it. She was yours. What you had together is still yours. Whether you want to share a story about it with me is entirely up to you. I’m not Bunshun.”  
  
“Or Friday,” Jun says, unable to hold back a smile of his own. This is why he talks to Sho about these things out of all the members—Sho doesn’t ask too many questions. He just lets Jun speak his mind, giving advice when asked and staying silent when it’s what Jun needs. He takes a generous sip of his drink before he talks. “It’s the longest relationship I had.”  
  
This is something Sho—and everyone in Arashi—knows. But Sho doesn’t say anything, just merely lets Jun continue.  
  
“I really thought it’d last,” he admits. Things happened. Jun’s no stranger to falling in love; it happens way too quickly for him sometimes. He’s prone to falling for a colleague after a few weeks of association, and despite his claims of not having a type, there’s a certain pattern he seems to follow with all the people he’s come to like. “Frankly, I think you guys thought the same.”  
  
“It’s just one of the things I’ve come to associate with you, I guess,” Sho says. “Given how long it lasted. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be,” Jun says immediately. It’s no one’s fault. They had to end it; she was going through such a stressful time and being with Jun had only added to it. Jun’s confident they will remain friends though; he can’t imagine severing a nine-year relationship completely. “It’s done. I think this is better, anyway. She has things she wants to try and she can only do them when I’m not holding her down. I think she’s had her fair share of waiting for someone who won’t commit completely.”  
  
He’s being too honest and he can see that Sho understands with the way Sho’s eyes have changed. Jun’s too attuned to not notice and he has to look away, recollect himself. He knows it’s mostly his fault why it ended.  
  
“Make up your mind, Jun,” he remembers her saying to him. “I can’t make your decisions for you.”  
  
He’s not undecided. He knows that’s how it looks to her, but he isn’t. The problem is the half-hearted feelings he has about their future together, that as long as he is in Arashi, he can’t allow himself that kind of indulgence. The members won’t say a word, will support him through it but the impact it’ll leave on the fans is a burden he can never impose on them as a group.  
  
Arashi comes first. It’s the unspoken agreement the five of them made when they decided to fight for a chance to be at the top. And now here they are.  
  
Sho doesn’t say anything, but he does lift his glass of beer in Jun’s direction, and Jun mimics him despite not understanding the reason for a toast. Until Sho says it.  
  
“To Arashi.”  
  
Jun lets out a small, sad smile, clinking his glass against Sho. “To Arashi,” he echoes.  
  
And all the things they had to lose for it.  
  
\--  
  
_This is what happens when they know_, Jun thinks in horror as everything unfolds. The internet was easy to ignore after Friday published that article about Ohno, but letting it all die down on its own didn’t work. Not when there are uchiwas with such hateful words, such accusations.  
  
Ohno’s a professional like the rest of them so he doesn’t react, but it’s getting to him. Jun knows because he’s quieter than usual during rehearsals and keeps to himself, laughs less. Despite Aiba and Sho’s efforts to get him to eat something, he barely does.  
  
“People like us can’t really have what we want,” Ohno says one night after the shows, after the Miyagi concerts. He’s in Jun’s room and is nursing a glass of beer, and he’s looking at Jun without really looking at him. Jun misses the Ohno from Hawaii, high from adrenaline and gratitude from the fans. “It’s hard to be happy.”  
  
“It’ll pass,” Jun says despite knowing it won’t. Ohno’s taken responsibility as directed by the management, apologizing and promising to never meet her again. Jun can’t imagine doing the same but knows he likely will if he was in a similar situation, forced by the circumstances.  
  
“It’s done,” Ohno says. “Never mind what she’s done for me, never mind how she’s inspired me to draw again, to finish things. None of those mattered to them. They bought our CDs, our DVDs, our goods and they think they’ve bought us.”  
  
“Not all of them,” Jun says in defense of those who aren’t like that. Surely not all of them are like that? But he doesn’t know; he’s only seen the negative comments on Twitter, the feelings of betrayal, the threats of boycotting. He can never really understand how Ohno feels.  
  
He does what he can and stands, grasping Ohno’s shoulder tight until Ohno’s palm covers his hand and squeezes tight. Jun doesn’t know what to say but knows exactly what Ohno is talking about. It’s the price they paid when they got this far and it’s starting to consume them in an unhealthy way, hurting not only them but the others.  
  
It’s why he never settled. He’s aware of the rumors about him, about the yearly marriage announcements the media expects him to make. But he never allows himself to think about it, to feel envious when he sees his friends with someone, people around his age who are happy and contented. He can never be like them. He focuses instead on Arashi and for years he’s able to fool himself that it’s all he needs.  
  
But Ohno’s feeling this way because of Arashi and Jun wishes he can fix it. He wishes they caught a whiff of what Friday was cooking up and put an end to it before it got published. He wishes they had another rumor instead—his yearly marriage is more preferable than this.  
  
“Don’t ever let this happen to you,” Ohno says, and Jun politely looks away when he sees Ohno’s eyes glassy, tears welling up at the sides. “Don’t let them know.”  
  
They all had prices to pay, relationships they had to give up but this is perhaps the most difficult one yet. Jun doesn’t say a word but nods as a promise, squeezing Ohno’s shoulder once more.  
  
Whatever he feels, it stays with him.  
  
  
  
  
**2016**  
  
He’s never tackled a role like this before and he’s heard the demo of the theme song for it, but it lacks something. The lyrics are fitting for the drama, very in-character for the role Jun’s going to play, but it’s missing something.  
  
He waits in the greenroom after work, until everyone’s left except for Sho, who has undoubtedly heard about it from a staff member. Jun hardly asks favors outside of the concert tours, but there’s only one person who can perhaps capture what he wants his character to be.  
  
“Sho-kun,” he says when they’re alone, “did you hear?”  
  
Sho nods. “Yeah, I did. You mean the rapping, right?”  
  
Sho’s face doesn’t give away anything. Jun’s never known him to refuse a member’s request, but this is the first time this is happening as per a member’s request. Usually, it’s the producers who ask him for a rap or when it’s the five of them trying to compose a song.  
  
“What do you think?” he asks just to be sure.  
  
“Seems fine to me,” Sho says.  
  
Jun starts talking, telling Sho about how he envisions the character to be, how the lyrics might feel like. He’s not dictating; he just knows Sho prefers requests to be phrased as specific as possible. It’s strange that he and Sho seem to know exactly how they want things to be when they talk, but Jun hardly gets an impression of that when he finishes talking. Sho simply nods in affirmation and heads on his way, and Jun hopes for the best.  
  
It’s perhaps two weeks after that when Jun receives word that Sho has completed the rap, and that Sho would like for him to listen to it first before they forward it to anyone important, in case he has a few changes he’d want for Sho to make. Jun acquiesces, heading to the studio to find Sho waiting, handing over a set of headphones so Jun can listen to the demo recording.  
  
They already finished recording the song and they did some preliminary editing to it, adding Sho’s raw rap lyrics. Jun listens attentively, schooling his features to giving nothing away, especially not how his heart is racing. Every syllable is perfect, every word fitting and appropriate, and he has to hold himself back lest he gushes.  
  
In many ways, he’s still Sho’s fan.  
  
The song finishes and Jun removes the headphones, turning to see Sho looking expectantly at him.  
  
“Well?” Sho asks, a little hesitant as he chews on his bottom lip. He looks constipated and Jun wants to prolong his suffering. “Did it make sense? The scripts really helped but I guess there’s still the danger of not capturing the essence of it since I’m not part of it, so I’d really like to know now while there’s still time.”  
  
At that, Jun can’t help smiling, the corner of his lips turning up. “It’s perfect,” he says honestly, enjoying the way Sho’s expression lights up. “It’s exactly what I wanted.”  
  
“I had to cheat a bit with the modulation to make it all match up,” Sho confesses, a slight tinge of pink now on his cheeks. “It really works for you?”  
  
Jun nods. “It does.”  
  
Sho visibly sighs in relief, now beaming. Combined with the stubble he hasn’t bothered to shave, the sight is a little arresting. “I’m glad. I’m really glad. You looked like you didn’t approve of it while you were listening to it.” Sho laughs and it leaves a funny feeling in Jun’s gut, like he’s thirteen all over again and meeting a kid who thought colored contacts were the coolest things. “Good luck with the drama.”  
  
“Thank you,” Jun says, rearranging his cap to hide how Sho’s words are affecting him. Except when he looks up, Sho’s got this weird expression on his face that Jun quirks an eyebrow at.  
  
“You changed your hair for it already?” Sho asks.  
  
Jun nods. He’s got shorter, darker hair now, the small curls and the dye now gone.  
  
“It suits you,” Sho says with a smile, and Jun wishes he’ll quit it. “You’ve always been cute.”  
  
“Shut up,” he says, not entirely meaning it. He can’t quite look at Sho now, a little too affected as always. He’s always been a shy one, but with Sho, he becomes worse.  
  
Sho thankfully does, reaching inside his bag to hand the copies of the script over that Jun had a staff member give to him. “Thank you. I was pretty much hooked when I finished the second one so I’m really looking forward to watching it.”  
  
Jun shoves the scripts back and shakes his head. “Keep them,” he says as coolly as he can manage, heading out of the studio. “I had them print out an extra copy for you; no one needs those.”  
  
“A souvenir from your drama then,” Sho says. “I’ll treasure it.” He can be so silly sometimes, and Jun wonders how a man like this can make him feel things no other person truly has for years. Sho’s the one person, the constant source of such conflicting feelings in him. No one else has made him feel this way and it’s a bit frustrating.  
  
But then again, no one really understands him as well as Sho does, and those lyrics are another proof of that. Jun tries to recall the words, committing each lyric Sho has written with Jun’s character in mind to memory and thinks: _I’ll treasure those, too_.  
  
\--  
  
He and Sho are looking at constellations along with the audience when Sho asks, “Hey, Matsumoto-kun. What constellation do you think that is?”  
  
He’s Matsumoto-kun at times like this. When everyone’s watching with undivided attention.  
  
Jun hums in thought. “The Orion?”  
  
He watches Sho connect the stars, highlighting the image he wants everyone to see. “Cancer. What kind of crab do you think it is?”  
  
Jun frowns, thinks of the biggest crab he knows that everyone can understand. “Horsehair?”  
  
Sho shakes his head. “Actually, it’s a monster crab. Despite his massive size though, he’s very weak. All it takes is one hit and he’s dead. He goes to battle to protect his friend, Hydra.” Sho gives him a look and it’s years of association that makes Jun understand, so he stands and remains where he is. “Matsumoto-kun, you’re Hydra.”  
  
Now they’re role-playing and like always, Jun just goes with the flow. If he’s smiling, he thinks it’s inevitable at this point. “I’m Hydra, okay.”  
  
“The crab,” Sho continues, “in order to protect Hydra, acts as a shield for his friend.”  
  
To everyone (including Jun, of course—he’s not as immune as he thinks he is sometimes)’s surprise, Sho jumps in front of him and spreads his arms wide, acting as a shield. Jun can only stare at the tumble of brown hair and the ridiculous man trying to protect him from nothing.  
  
“But he gets defeated quickly. Still, his courage was admirable and rewarded, so he became a constellation in the sky,” Sho is saying, heedless of the fans screaming. The whole dome is deafening at this point, and Jun is sure no one can hear the thundering pound of his heart.  
  
“And as the crab did for Hydra, if anything trying to harm you comes your way, I’ll be the crab who protects you,” Sho says, holding out his hand. The dome erupts into chaos and Jun reaches out, takes Sho’s hand in his own in a handshake, wondering if Sho can feel how he trembles.  
  
Something blossoms inside him, long hidden but carefully cultivated, and amidst the blinding lights and loud cheers, Jun thinks, _This is why._  
  
  
  
  
**2017**  
  
The offer for a unit song came with the rest of the offers to perform unit songs with, so it didn’t particularly stand out. Not to Jun, at least. In the past, his younger self would’ve jumped at any opportunity to share the stage with Sho, but he’s gone and done that many times than he can count that he isn’t particularly thrilled at the thought.  
  
“It’s been a while for this combination,” Sho says when they do talk about it, when it’s been finalized and they’ve both read the lyrics and listened to the demo tapes. “The last one was when? Sixteen years ago? During Join the Storm?”  
  
Jun nods. “Get Yourself Arrested,” he recalls. He thinks he’s one of the few that can. That song was a cover and not included in any of their DVDs, lost to time.  
  
“Wouldn’t you say it feels a bit similar to that?” Sho asks. “The song, I mean. They picked this one for us because they thought it suited us.”  
  
It does feel like their old cover but different in a way. If anything, it feels very Sho, a rap battle that only Sho will be able to pull off. Jun only rapped in certain occasions: during AraFes when they shuffled their parts, during their group songs that did require rapping, and when he sings Sho’s solos in private, like T.A.B.O.O.  
  
“It does,” Jun agrees. “But also feels like a matured version. Maybe because this is what we are now.” He doesn’t really know what he means by that. He and Sho are certainly very different from the Sho and Jun of 2002. Years later, when Jun no longer actively campaigns for it, the staff found a way to make them work closely together.  
  
“You’re already thinking about the background lights, aren’t you,” Sho says with a knowing grin. “The easiest way is to pattern it after our colors. It’s our performance together, after all.”  
  
Our performance. There had been a time—when Jun still had flat hair and crooked teeth, form so lanky and small that people didn’t take him seriously—that Jun wished for such a thing to happen in front of a fifty thousand audience.  
  
Now, he’s not quite sure. But it’s him and Sho, and performing together would require a bit of skinship that’ll send the fans screaming. Jun can already imagine the ensuing chaos, the pandemonium.  
  
It’s bad enough that he still has residual feelings for this man. But did the audience have to lose their heads over every single interaction, too?  
  
“Please include me in any of your meetings,” Sho says, cutting off Jun’s intrusive, selfish thoughts.  
  
He frowns. “You’ve been attending most of the meetings lately. I honestly can’t see you missing any of the upcoming ones.”  
  
“Just letting you know that I want to be actively involved this time,” Sho says with an edge to his voice that Jun hasn’t heard before. He supposes this is the effect of Ohno’s confession from last year and their joint decision to halt activities as Arashi in the near future. Sho seems desperate to make memories lately—his invitations have increased in frequency and wherever he goes, he makes sure to buy something for each of the members.  
  
The other day, he’s given Jun a pack of sanitizers. Before that were a bunch of nail oils, lip balms, and bath bombs. Jun’s grateful for all of it; it does make him feel like there’s someone who takes care of all of them.  
  
But his desperation is a reminder of how things won’t last and it hurts. As early as now it’s beginning to hurt. And if Jun can grant him this then he will; he thinks it’s only fair to let Sho spend as much time with him as he wants to make things last.  
  
To create enough memories together until it’s time.  
  
“Please keep me in your favor,” Sho says, and his seriousness makes Jun laugh before he says the same.  
  
“Likewise.”  
  
\--  
  
He expected Sho to be angry.  
  
After all, it wasn’t Jun’s to open. The manager made the mistake of handing Jun the package, and Jun, without thinking too much despite having no recent memory of ordering something online, opened it.  
  
Only to find a manga volume that he never bought, and when he finally checked the information on the box itself, he saw Sho’s name and realized his mistake.  
  
“Ah,” is all Sho says after Jun apologizes, handing the now opened box with the manga volume sitting inside. At least Jun didn’t tear up the plastic. “It’s okay.”  
  
The Sho then would call him stupid and careless, perhaps playfully hit the back of his head. The Sho now only laughs, waving off Jun’s apology.  
  
“I’ll lend it to you,” Sho promises.  
  
The older they become, the mellower they turn out. If anyone asks Jun for a reason why he keeps feeling this way, the answer is this.  
  
He’s seen Sho’s worst and still felt the same despite that. At this point, nothing can stop him anymore.  
  
  
  
  
**2018**  
  
He’s positive Sho no longer remembers. Of the two of them, it’s him who has the tendency to deny things outright once they become embarrassing, but this is too old and perhaps too mundane for Sho remember. Sho wasn’t the one who did the chasing before, after all.  
  
“I received your button when you graduated from high school,” he reminds Sho during an innocuous magazine interview, “and had it sewn to my own uniform.”  
  
Sho’s eyes widen, a furrow now formed between his eyebrows. He looks like he can’t quite believe that Jun has just revealed. “You’re kidding.”  
  
“A sleeve button,” Jun says. “I asked for it, didn’t I? Then you gave it to me, and to make sure I don’t lose it, I attached it to my own uniform. It probably looked odd back then; I was the only one with a different-looking button on one sleeve.”  
  
“Show me,” Sho says suddenly, and now it’s Jun’s turn to be surprised. “Do you still have it? The uniform?”  
  
Jun has since moved from his parents’ house and moved to bigger apartments when he felt like it, but he knows he took that coat with him. It’s somewhere in his closet, hidden away since no one is supposed to know it exists. Jun saw no harm in revealing its existence now, but he didn’t think Sho would want proof.  
  
How many proofs does he want?  
  
“Next time,” is all he says. “Remind me next time.”  
  
This bit will never survive the magazine editing, and Jun is grateful for the editor’s foresight to keep personal things personal when he reads the published version a few weeks later. This way, no one except the staff knows and they’re bound to forget it after some time.  
  
This way, it’s only between him and Sho.  
  
\--  
  
The filming for Arashi no Arashi Kai has already wrapped up but they were all in such high spirits that Jun spontaneously agreed to host a party in his house, the five of them drinking and laughing and sharing stories. Aiba, sufficiently inebriated, does the Italian cannon that wins the group’s laughter, and Jun is hit with a wave of nostalgia and gratitude for these four people currently causing a ruckus at his house.  
  
There’ll never be other people like them. They’re unmatched. When the time comes, he’s certain he’ll miss this.  
  
Nino clinks his glass against Jun’s, smiling when Jun turns to face him. “Your drink’s getting lonely. Stop thinking. Enjoy the moment.”  
  
When Jun’s got alcohol in his bloodstream and it’s easier to laugh and to cry, he says the most stupid things. Like wishing for the other members to be happy. He apparently says the same thing again because Aiba has become emotional too and is trying hard not to cry. Ohno only gives him this look, his eyes glassy, and Jun can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or from emotions or both. Nino’s got half of his face hidden behind his drink but he doesn’t tease Jun about it, merely smiles. And Sho…  
  
Sho’s looking at him.  
  
“I just want all of you to be happy,” he repeats, meaning every word. If there’s one thing he can wish for, it’s this. Never mind the dream, the goals, the aspirations they set as a group. This is the one thing Jun truly wants for the other four, never mind himself.  
  
“And he’s drunk,” Nino declares, which makes the others laugh. “Time for us to wrap this up.”  
  
“Don’t go,” Jun says. He never liked being alone after parties. It’s why he hardly goes back to his own house each time he attends one; he’s got no one around save for himself. “You can sleep here.”  
  
“I’ve got to go,” Nino says apologetically, and it takes a moment for Jun to understand but he does. “Aiba-shi, too.” They’re the ones who have someone waiting for them, and Jun nods.  
  
He looks at Ohno who’s already taken Jun up on his offer and has claimed the couch for himself, snoring lightly in moments. “Leader’s not going anywhere.”  
  
Nino shrugs. “Of course not. Remind him not to puke on your floor.”  
  
Jun’s positive Ohno would never. If he’s down like this, he’s unlikely to do anything else other than sleep. “And you?” he asks, turning to Sho. Nino and Aiba are already grabbing their coats, saying their goodbyes.  
  
“There’s something you have to show me before I go, I think,” Sho says with a soft smile. Jun has to stare at him and blink for a couple of seconds before it sinks in, and Jun laughs.  
  
“This way,” he says cheerily. Nino and Aiba already left, shutting the door behind them, and Ohno’s off dreaming about a fishing boat. Maybe. They’re the only ones up. He leads Sho to his bedroom, opening his closet as he chuckles to himself.  
  
“I haven’t shown this to anyone in years,” he says. “Who knows, the button might have fallen off and you came here for nothing.” He laughs, struggles a little with pulling the coat from where it’s been hidden, and when he does get it, dusts it off before turning around.  
  
Sho’s looking around at his room but he does focus on Jun once more when Jun hands over the uniform. His hands immediately inspect the sleeve, eyes widening in amazement when he recognizes the mismatched buttons. “You really kept it.”  
  
“I did,” Jun says, inspecting the sleeve as well. His meager sewing skills held out despite the years. “I told you I did.”  
  
“I didn’t think you’d treasure this that much,” Sho says. “To be quite honest. I’ve given you lots of things over time, things I’m sure that meant more than this—”  
  
“It meant a lot to me,” Jun says, cutting him off. “At the time. It did so much at the time, you have no idea.” He smiles, wondering if his younger self ever imagined this happening: hours away from dawn with him and Sho in his bedroom, inspecting a uniform sleeve. When he was painstakingly trying not to prick himself with the needle, did he imagine showing it off like this?  
  
“I do now,” Sho says. He’s looking at their feet now, absentmindedly stroking the button that stands out from the rest. “I said I’ll wait. A few years back, I said I’ll wait. Do you remember? You were drunker at the time.”  
  
Jun has no idea what he’s talking about. He’s been drunk on multiple occasions in front of Sho, sometimes during their spontaneous trips to private bars. But the way Sho says it, it has to mean something.  
  
“What?” is all he says, frowning now.  
  
Sho nods like he understands, facing Jun once more. “I asked you then. I’m not going to ask twice. You haven’t properly answered, anyway. I’ll wait. If you end up forgetting everything I said tonight, I hope you remember this.”  
  
Jun blinks, stares, stops. If Sho’s saying what he thinks he’s saying, this isn’t how Jun expected himself to react. At any other time, he’d be overjoyed, beyond thrilled that it’s possible, that it’s been possible all along. And yet.  
  
“Don’t let them know,” Ohno once said.  
  
“We can’t,” he finds himself saying. “Arashi—”  
  
“Comes first,” Sho says. “I know. It’s why I’ll wait.” Jun catches him stroking the button with his thumb. “If this thing held on for two decades, I can do it too.”  
  
Sho steps back, leaving the bedroom without another word, and Jun hurriedly deposits the uniform on his bed before he follows. He can say he’s expected the sight of Sho putting his coat back on, his feet halfway into his shoes.  
  
It’s probably for the best.  
  
“How long?” Jun asks at the genkan, when Sho’s got his cap on and doesn’t look like anybody important. But he is. He is to Jun for so many years now.  
  
Sho hums in thought, like he’s seriously considering it. Then he grins. “Sometime after Rowing Club, I think. Had to take a step back when you had someone, of course.”  
  
“Of course,” Jun says. He can’t describe how he’s feeling tonight. He’s happy, full of love for four people he’s spent the good and bad years of his life with, and then there’s Sho. There’s always the associated confusion that comes with Sho, something Jun never truly understood until now. “Of course.”  
  
“Good night,” Sho says, inclining his head a little. The sight of it makes Jun laugh. “Thank you for the high-quality meat. I’ll treasure it.”  
  
“It’s grass-fed beef. Tell me if it’s good,” Jun says, trying to sound casual. He thinks he already imagined all possible scenarios of Sho reciprocating his feelings, but none of them lived up to how it really was. No theatrics and just Sho being himself.  
  
Exactly how Jun wants him.  
  
“You know it is,” Sho says, chuckling. “You just want to flaunt your good find. But I will, yes. Anything for Matsumoto-san.”  
  
Sho’s been saying that with regularity, but it’s only now that Jun understands the meaning. He sees Sho out, and when he’s got the door shut and locked, finally allows himself to breathe.  
  
He heads back inside his apartment and snorts in laughter when he sees Ohno’s sleeping face, mouth wide open as he snores away. He takes a photo of it and sends it to their LINE group, and with that, heads to bed.  
  
He doesn’t dream.  
  
  
  
  
**2019**  
  
For his drama SP promotion, they ask him about a time he realized that someone was important to him, and for once, Jun gives it some serious thought. Then he remembers about the other day, when Sho happened to be in the adjacent studio where Jun was having a magazine photoshoot. They met coincidentally, running into one another in the corridor and having no idea that the other was there.  
  
He relays the story to the best of his ability, and it’s only then that he realizes that he answered a light-hearted question truthfully. He’s got four important persons in his life, people he’s shared the same path with. But one of them stands out for purely selfish reasons.  
  
“Sho-kun happened to be in the studio right next to mine,” he says, all too aware of the implications. _Damn them all_, he thinks. Their time is limited. They only have a little over a year together left.  
  
He lets the magazine staff take it for what it is. However they choose to interpret that is up to them. Jun’s had enough of hiding, of pretending he doesn’t care when he does.  
  
Sho’s importance to him—he makes sure they all know.  
  
\--  
  
This is how it starts:  
  
Dreams Jun has achieved with Arashi by his side: more than he can count.  
  
Dreams he wishes to fulfill, still with Arashi by his side: more than he can dream of.  
  
  
  
  
**2020**  
  
Though they promised to run towards the goal with all their might, they take it slow during the latter half of the year, trying to make the transition easier for all parties. When the year ends, there’ll be no Arashi anymore, and that will take some time getting used to. For a while, Jun knows he won’t see the blinding lights, the stage, the seats. He won’t hear deafening cheers and thundering applause. It will be tough, but like everyone else, he’ll do his best. With everyone’s help, he’ll do his best.  
  
Until they meet again.  
  
They hold a final meeting at a private restaurant, somewhere Sho has reserved beforehand, a few months before the year ends. They talk about everything except work. They laugh, share stories, fall into an easy rhythm as they try to recall everything that’s happened for the past two decades.  
  
“You guys were so rude when you woke everyone up,” Ohno recalls, and it’s one of Jun’s fondest memories of Hawaii. Nowadays, it’d be impossible to ask Jun to wake up early to pull a prank—he’s too old and too grumpy for that now. But it’s a funny memory, that there had been a time he was a morning person.  
  
“And when you bribed me with milk buns,” Nino is saying, shaking his head. “If you try to do that now, it won’t work, I’m telling you.”  
  
It’s Sho’s turn to laugh, loud and infectious. “You got the cheapest one in the end.”  
  
“Honestly, you guys are unbelievable,” Nino complains, but he’s smiling. Looking at them now, it’s unthinkable that they had to resort to such cheap tactics to convince the members before. Now, all one had to do was ask. Now, they’re all willing to do anything in a heartbeat, wanting to make the most of what they have.  
  
“Remember when we had to dress up as Ohmiya SK?” Aiba asks with a giggle. “At one point, it stopped being Leader and Nino and became anyone who’d gladly wear the costumes.”  
  
“Matsujun’s the only one who never wore it,” Sho says, looking at him. “Remember the surprise you had for my birthday a couple of years back? Everybody wore the same police uniform except for you.”  
  
“You had me wear a leopard-patterned coat and hold a cigar and a glass of brandy while I wore a stocking over my head,” Jun says, not biting. “That was the last straw.”  
  
Things between him and Sho seem to have reached a common ground. They had an understanding that whatever it is that they wished to pursue, it will have to wait in favor of Arashi. In the end, he and Sho are too alike, always putting Arashi first over their own interests. Maybe it’s why they lasted this long, managed to wait this long.  
  
Jun can’t imagine doing it for anyone else.  
  
They settle for meaningful looks, constant text messages, sometimes the occasional phone calls that lead to dinner and a few drinks. They don’t do anything more than that, anything that might hint to others how much they mean to one another. They never talked about it explicitly save for that night, but it’s because they’ve been around each other for so long that they simply know.  
  
The night continues and when Nino, Aiba, and Sho start a queue of karaoke featuring their own songs, Jun opts to sit beside Ohno who’s watching over everything with a serene smile on his face. Jun prefers him like this, at peace and contented, the burden lessened.  
  
“Matsujun,” Ohno says while Aiba tries to hit Ohno’s notes at the beginning of Kotoba Yori, “it’s okay. It’s okay now.”  
  
“What is?” Jun asks, taking a sip of his beer. He tries not to laugh at Nino smacking the back of Aiba’s head but can’t, giving in to a few chuckles. They’ll always be this stupid. Jun hopes they’ll never change.  
  
“You and Sho-chan,” Ohno says, and in that moment, Jun’s attention snaps on him. Ohno merely smiles. “It’s okay. We all know. We’ve all known for quite a while, and before you freak out, no one told us. We found out in our own ways. And it’s okay.”  
  
They have a few months left. Jun looks away, trying to process all of this. He knows the others must be aware of his feelings for Sho, but for them to know even this…  
  
He can’t help a snort of laughter from escaping. They know where to look. Being together for more than twenty years does that.  
  
“We haven’t,” is all Jun says, this time taking a huge gulp of his beer. He needs it. “Arashi comes first.”  
  
“I know,” Ohno says, because out of all of them, he’s the one who understands this part the most. “But you have to know that it’s okay. We’ve all sacrificed something for Arashi, gave up something for the sake of Arashi. But in a few months, we’re choosing anything but Arashi.” Ohno grasps his knee and squeezes, his smile reaching his eyes. “It’s okay to choose now.”  
  
Jun has spent years of his life prioritizing the group that it’s a foreign concept to him not to do it anymore. At least for a while. It’s strange and simultaneously liberating, and he thinks right now, he understands Ohno a little better. There are things he can have when he doesn’t consider Arashi.  
  
Was this how Ohno felt? Why he decided to take that leap and find a way out? They’ve all been held back by different, personal circumstances. It had been the price for all those achievements, for the dreams that came true.  
  
“You’ve always wanted all of us to be happy,” Ohno tells him. “I want the same for you. For Sho-chan. For Aiba-chan. And for Nino.” Ohno’s gaze moves to where Sho is, who’s laughing at Nino’s pathetic attempt of singing Sho’s rap in his best imitation of Sho’s voice. “I think it’s okay for you to be happy now.”  
  
Jun feels like this is something he’s always needed to hear but never knew until now. All his life, he never thought it’d be possible. He contented himself with wanting Sho in secret, that the possibility of them being something more is preposterous and unlikely to ever happen. He’s lived with that thought long enough for it to become his reality, and to hear that it isn’t makes him feel like something’s awakened in him, like a piece of rock that started an avalanche, overwhelming him all at once.  
  
If he drowns, he won’t be surprised. It’s only fitting, considering how much he withheld over the years.  
  
“Invite me to your boat,” he says, because he can’t say thank you. He’s too affected by Ohno’s words. “When you get your own damn boat, before you disappear to who knows where, invite me.”  
  
Ohno grins, eyes narrowing. “Only if you bring Sho-chan with you.”  
  
That makes Jun laugh, shaking his head. “You do realize you’re putting too much pressure on the both of us?”  
  
“Matsujun,” Ohno says seriously, eyes on Jun’s, “the only reason you never saw how Sho-chan looked at you the entire time is that you never believed it to be possible. It is. It is now. And if you let this one pass, I’m sailing away to Okinawa and everyone will know except for you.”  
  
Jun punches him on the shoulder for that and Ohno winces, hissing as he rubs the spot. “I can’t promise anything. Are you serious? I—”  
  
“Please, you’re popular,” Ohno says, making an unimpressed face, and Jun lightly hits his arm this time. “You know how. I’m just giving you the push you need. It’s working, isn’t it? You two are the most level-headed persons I know. It only makes sense.”  
  
“What does?” Jun asks. He has no idea what Ohno’s talking about.  
  
But Ohno merely grins, and their moment is interrupted when Aiba hands Ohno the microphone and plants himself next to Jun, arm around Jun’s shoulders. Aiba’s singing along to Ohno’s part in Love So Sweet, and Jun finds himself adding his own voice to the chorus, like it’s the most natural thing to do.  
  
Maybe it is. If he stops overthinking for a second, maybe it does make sense. Maybe it only does for this moment and never again. But Jun thinks he’s ready to take that risk, to leap.  
  
His eyes meet Sho’s, and it marks the first time Jun’s pulse doesn’t accelerate. As they close the doors for Arashi, Jun prepares himself to open another one, one he hasn’t touched on for years but stayed with him as he got older.  
  
He thinks it’s a good beginning after the best ending.  
  
\--  
  
And this is how it ends:  
  
One dream Jun has that he wishes to come true, for the sake of Arashi: a bright future.  
  
  
  
  
**The future:**  
  
It happens during spring, the leaves rustling against the wind and when the flowers are blooming. It happens after dinner when Sho finally accepts an invitation to Jun’s place. They’ve been keeping in touch, always informed of what the other is up to. With Arashi put on hold, there’s no group manager to inform them of what’s happening with one another, and they take the extra effort. They’re both not used to it yet, but they find a way.  
  
After all these years, they find a way.  
  
“You’ve asked me before,” Jun says when there’s wine between them, an extension of the dinner they just had someplace else, “when we were young. Too young. You think I don’t remember, but I do.”  
  
An eyebrow quirk and Sho darts a glance to where Jun’s TV is. “Did you rewatch our old concerts?”  
  
Jun rolls his eyes and Sho laughs. Obviously, Sho’s just making light of things, but Jun needs him to be serious for this. It’s only now that they can talk about this, that they’re free.  
  
Wherever Ohno is now, Jun thanks him in his heart.  
  
“I didn’t answer then,” Jun says. “Not really. But now…”  
  
He trails off, hands suddenly clammy. He drinks more wine to calm himself, but there’s no escaping Sho’s gaze, his attentiveness. He’s been the recipient of that stare for a long while, but he still isn’t accustomed to it. He wishes he’ll never be able to develop a tolerance for it. He likes seeing it.  
  
“Tell me,” Sho coaxes gently, expression full of understanding. In another time, Jun wouldn’t. He’d hold on to it and never breathe a word, deny it fiercely.  
  
It’s different now. There’s nothing between them now, no greater responsibility to hold them back. Right now, the words come when any other time it won’t.  
  
“I love you,” he admits, shutting his eyes. He’s not looking his best. He hasn’t shaved, there’s no foundation to hide the parts of his face he’s been insecure about for years, and he’s got bags under his eyes. “Always.”  
  
He doesn’t look at Sho when he finishes his drink, maintaining his gaze on the empty glass even when he hears Sho stand, the feet of the chair scraping against the polished floor. Now that he’s said it, Jun doesn’t know what to do, how to go from here. He never really thought this far. When Sho asked that question, they were young, their dreams not yet materializing and taking shape. The world had been simple despite its incessant demands. Jun didn’t think his feelings would last this long, that he and Sho would reach this stage and make it through.  
  
Together.  
  
When he lifts his head, Sho’s standing right beside him, a hand outstretched. It’s an offering, and Jun can refuse if he wants to. If he’s not ready. He’s held that hand countless times, fingers intertwined when they raise it above their heads and everyone around them screams their name at the top of their lungs.  
  
There’s no audience now, and Jun makes up his mind.  
  
He reaches out, grasps Sho’s fingers in his and meets Sho’s eyes, trying to understand without words. Looking at Sho now reminds Jun of how long they’ve known each other: the first time they met, Sho was short and small, face round and youthful. It’s as if they’re meeting for the first time again, but they’re older now and there’s no earring, no colored contact lenses or dreadlocks. Jun isn’t even wearing any ring when any other time, he would’ve and it would have been bigger than his own knuckles.  
  
They’ve changed.  
  
It’s him who guides Sho to the bedroom, the door shutting behind them. It’s dark and Jun waits for his eyes to adjust, trying not to tremble in place when Sho reaches up, brushing away the hair that fell over his eyes.  
  
He wants to see, Jun realizes. It’s a chilling thought. _He wants to see me._  
  
If there are cameras nearby, Jun would know how it’s supposed to go. He knows how to project, to control the setting and make it look appealing, to earn a director’s approval. But there’s no spotlight and it’s just them and it’s as if he has to retrace the steps that led them here before he can proceed.  
  
His thoughts swarm him, overloud. The longer they stand in the dark doing nothing, the more Jun allows hesitation to fester in him. What if Ohno was wrong? What if they’re being too hasty?  
  
But then comes the counterargument: haven’t they waited long enough?  
  
Jun licks his lips, swallowing the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. Forget flying in Kokuritsu for the first time, forget walking at the ceiling of Tokyo Dome. This is the most nerve-wracking thing he has to do and it’s simultaneously the most exhilarating.  
  
“I—” he says or tries to say, because in the next moment Sho steps in his space, cranes his neck, and Jun shuts his eyes just in time to feel Sho’s lips against his own for the first time.  
  
He feels like he can soar.  
  
It’s soft and unhurried, and it’s exactly how Jun wants it. They have the time. They’ve earned it. Sho kisses like Jun expected him to—light, almost innocent, shy. He wonders if it mirrors how Sho feels at present, if like Jun, he feels like he can take off and reach heights he’s never allowed himself to before.  
  
When Jun kisses back, he thinks Sho sighs against his mouth as he presses closer, and it’s inevitable how they simply descend now that they’ve given in. Jun’s hands find their place on the crest of Sho’s hipbone, the other on Sho’s neck as his thumb traces the curve of a well-defined jaw. Sho’s hands end up circling his waist, drawing him closer, and maybe their stubbles tickle one another but they’re too singularly focused on kissing to even care.  
  
The world can keep going around them—Jun feels as if they’re suspended in time, untouchable in this space.  
  
There’s no awareness of time; there’s only Sho and where he begins. It’s all Jun can focus on. He breaks away from Sho’s tempting mouth to press his lips against flesh for the first time, and the gasp he receives spurs him to want more, everything that he’s allowed to have. He becomes bolder, taking what’s being offered, familiarizing himself with skin he’s only had the chance to touch in his dreams before.  
  
Their clothing comes off without immediate awareness on Jun’s part. He only realizes it when he has to take a step back, seeing Sho’s body in the dark and having the permission to touch wherever he likes. He’s seen Sho naked hundreds of times in the past—in Hakone when they went to the onsen, on TV when Sho goes to different onsens himself, during concerts and they have to take a shower. It’s nothing new, and yet.  
  
Yet, this is the first time Jun has the liberty to run his fingers over bone, over sensitive flesh that makes Sho gasp, body arching as a reaction. He’s seen Sho naked for countless times but never like this—like it’s all his.  
  
It is. Jun is swept by the revelation that just came to him, just as Sho pulls him towards the bed. He ends up looming over Sho, a hand braced at the side of Sho’s face as Sho looks at him, lips reddened and inviting from the kisses they shared earlier that are still not enough.  
  
Sho’s hand travels, tracing Jun’s neck before exerting force, and Jun meets him in another kiss that leaves them breathless and wanting, craving.  
  
“We don’t have to,” Sho says, fingers buried in Jun’s hair and stroking softly. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to. I’ve waited. I can wait some more.”  
  
This is how Sho does it, Jun thinks. How he keeps winning Jun over each time like the first time, why Jun never stopped. He’s never a taker. He only offers and lets Jun decide, to have the final say because he understands Jun better than anyone.  
  
“You’ve waited enough,” Jun whispers, shifting to let Sho feel it, and he watches in awe how Sho reacts: expression giving way to pleasure, the flutter of his eyelids as his mouth parts. Jun does it again and Sho grasps his arms tight, causing him to still in his movements.  
  
“Please,” is all Sho says, eyes sliding shut, and Jun hears him.  
  
He moves, mouth finding Sho’s neck and sucking while his fingers start staking claim on Sho’s body, using Sho’s reactions as a guide. In his dreams, he saw Sho leading and him following. Reality is better, he realizes, when Sho’s legs part to give him space and he has all of Sho under him.  
  
He desires so much he isn’t sure if he can contain it. He thinks Sho can feel how much, that it’s mutual and there’s also this synapse that courses through Sho’s spine, making him so receptive and open. Jun’s never wanted him more than he does now, and he has all the time to make it last.  
  
He’s low enough that he can take Sho into his mouth, and the noise Sho makes once he does is something he’ll never forget. He goes slow, savoring the moment, the look on Sho’s face as he curls his tongue over the slit. Sho looks wrecked by the time he stops, eyes wild when he meets Jun’s.  
  
“Jun,” Sho says, flushing and beautiful—all Jun’s. The thought of it is addicting.  
  
“Yes,” Jun says, realigning their bodies once more, opening his mouth for Sho’s kiss. They maneuver together despite hardly separating, and when they break apart to breathe, Sho nods.  
  
Like everything, Sho offers. Jun hesitates briefly, but Sho reaches for his hand and laces their fingers together, palm spreading warmth. He squeezes and gives the reassurance Jun needs, the reminder that if Jun wants to, they’ll stop.  
  
He doesn’t. His desire to continue is bigger than his fear.  
  
In all the years they’ve been around each other, Jun never really allowed himself to touch Sho freely—an arm over a shoulder was what he’d agree with as per a photographer’s request—and that was it. In his defense, he’s afraid of what touching Sho might elicit in him, the underlying tendency to ignite something raw and foreign, one that might burn so fiercely and stubbornly.  
  
He’s careful when he touches this time, gentle and patient. Much as he wants to rush things, this isn’t just anyone—it’s Sho and Jun can’t recall how many times he thought of this happening. He’s been with others to know what to do, but this is the first time he’s been with someone he’s wanted for so long that he can’t decide what he wants to do first.  
  
He takes it slow, memorizing every ridge and line of bone, the crest of Sho’s hips, the planes of his stomach, his thighs. He takes his time looking, fingers trembling slightly when they reach in the middle, downward to where Sho must want him—he has to look up and check.  
  
Sho’s watching him too, pupils blown and lips parted, breaths coming up short. Jun takes what he needs from the nightstand and slides one in, relishing in the groan he hears before Sho relaxes around him. Jun wants to ask how long has Sho wanted this but can’t; he can’t quite focus on everything all at once.  
  
It must be minutes before he adds another, letting Sho adjust on his own pace and not rushing. It becomes too much but he waits, setting his weight on his heels, kneeling between Sho’s thighs. He stops when Sho makes a particular noise that sends Jun’s blood running south, and he moves, fumbling a little in his haste.  
  
Their eyes meet and Jun stills despite their bodies aligned.  
  
“If you don’t want to,” Jun offers for the first time, seeing Sho smile softly, handsomely, “it’s okay.”  
  
“Facing me,” is all Sho says, hand tight around Jun’s bicep. Jun obliges, shifting so he’s right where he wants to be and remains there, waiting. “I want to see you.”  
  
He finds Sho’s mouth before he pushes in, swallowing Sho’s quiet gasp. He doesn’t move despite the irresistible urge to do so, trailing light kisses on Sho’s jaw as he waits.  
  
He waits. Jun finds that there’s nothing wrong with waiting now that they’re here.  
  
Sho shifts under him, and Jun understands. He moves slowly at first, taking his time, cataloguing Sho’s reactions with each snap of his hips. He picks up the pace when Sho starts meeting him halfway, legs bracketing Jun’s thighs, fingers on Jun’s shoulders.  
  
They’re looking at one another as they move in unison—Sho like he can’t quite believe this, and Jun overwhelmed by how it feels. All those lonely nights and frenzied need he’d felt in his youth could never compare.  
  
“You feel—” he says or tries to. It’s more than good. He holds Sho close, pressing their bodies together and shifts his angle just so, and it’s indescribably blinding.  
  
He hears his name and no longer holds himself back, planting his forearms on Sho’s sides as he gives in to the sweltering heat building up between his thighs, Sho’s breathless grunts spurring him on. He reaches down and grasps, earning a hitched groan from Sho, and twists his wrist just so.  
  
He feels it when Sho tumbles over the edge—a shudder accompanied by a hushed whisper of his name and it’s all he needs. Right before he falls, he feels the softest brush of Sho’s fingertips against his forehead, brushing away the hair that stuck there before Sho plants a kiss on the heated skin.  
  
“Always,” Sho whispers. He inhales and smells Sho and allows himself to drown.  
  
Jun lets go.  
  
\--  
  
Over time, Jun finds more and more of Sho’s things in his place. It started with a toothbrush and his beloved pair of infernal faux jeans, and maybe the years have changed Jun and made him less argumentative because he only settled for a minute shake of his head when Sho showed it to him.  
  
He never lets Sho wear it for long, though. The matching shirts they both own cause confusion, and Jun has long given up trying to identify which is his and which one belongs to Sho. They’ve been sharing clothes for years that it’s no longer an issue.  
  
They adjust in their own ways. They no longer participate in music shows but instead watch music shows together, either in his place or Sho’s. They don’t meet up every week to film their regular programs anymore, and it’s why they make time and exert effort to meet despite their schedules. Jun focuses on working backstage, offering his input to their juniors when asked and doing the occasional acting gig should he feel like it. He’s got an upcoming drama in a few months, and he knows it’s going to require some rearrangements to their schedules to make something work.  
  
But he’s looking forward to it. Having this with Sho is something he never allowed himself to imagine, and each day feels like a gift, something to be cherished. Jun’s had his share of relationships that lasted, but this is one he wants to keep for as long as they both want it.  
  
It’s winter now and he’s leaning against the wall of his genkan when the door opens, revealing Sho who’s wrapped in a thick coat, one of Jun’s scarves around his neck. Jun’s provided him with a key a couple of months back, and Sho finally had the courage to use it. His nose is pink from the cold and there are snowflakes on his hair, and he greets Jun hello with the smile that reaches his eyes.  
  
“I’m back,” Sho says.  
  
Jun reaches out, brushing away some of the snowflakes and returns Sho’s smile.  
  
Sho’s always got a cute forehead.  
  
“Hello,” he says. “Welcome back.”

**Author's Note:**

> The bit about the Daylight rap was lifted almost verbatim from the English translation of Sho's Otonoha. The transcript for crab-san is from [this translation](https://twitter.com/amnosxmatsujun/status/747309137327906816?s=20). The line re: Arashi's bright future is from Jun himself, and you can watch a clip of him saying that [here](https://twitter.com/ancoJun/status/1165545277639385088?s=20).
> 
> I'm always on twitter if you want to yell about the beef.


End file.
